


Margie

by mikeginsanity (blahblahwahwah)



Series: Choose the Dress [4]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comfort/Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Dark, F/M, Friendship/Love, Mystery, Romance, Shameless Smut, Undercover As Prostitute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 109,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwahwah/pseuds/mikeginsanity
Summary: She chose baseball. She chose the glove. She chose the dream.And then Pop died.And, somehow the dream didn’t make sense any more.AU fic where undercover Vice Cop Ginny meets human disaster Mike Lawson in the middle of an op.





	1. Schism

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so here's the warning:  
> I wrote the entire fic on a 17 h plane ride across the Atlantic and to be honest this is a very dark themed fic with some violence, profanity and dark emotions and is likely to seem OOC for both Mike and Ginny as we know 'em. Also there will be character displacements like Livan and Blip.
> 
> This fic is my homage to Rookie Blue in a way (I miss it)
> 
> Also...PLEASE REVIEW!!!

 

"You know who I am.”

It’s a statement, not a query. He lets out a cynical noise that might be a laugh.

“Of course you know who I am.” He says, shaking his head.

“I should tell you…” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop it. “I have your rookie card…you’ve been my favourite player since…”

“Don’t.” He interrupts her. His head drops, beard touching his chest. “Makes you look stupid – makes me feel old…”

…makes her an idiot, too.

That pained sound, a simple sigh. It reeks more of despair than the pathetic look on his face. His shoulders droop and he spins around, turning his back to her, dropping onto the mattress, shrouding his face with his large hands.

He lifts his face, he scrubs his beard, rubs his eyes, wipes his forehead. He fixates at a point on the wall opposite them.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He whispers.

She looks at the full-length mirror on the side. Her relaxed hair is in place. Her make-up is fine, she’s learned to perfect it enough to soberly accent her features and make her look fuckable at the same time. Her backless, midnight-blue strap dress is appealing enough; shows off all the good parts: hugs her figure, displays her pushed up cleavage, exposes her toned arms and back, it ends below her ass, shows off her thighs before the sexy thigh-high boots take over.

The problem is her eyes.

Those aren’t Margie’s eyes. Margie’s eyes are steady, seductive, oozing an unvoiced ‘come’n’fuck me’.

No. Not Margie's eyes.

She’s looking into the eyes of _Someone_.

A girl who once idolized this man, sitting at the edge of the bed, trembling and sobbing, his head bowed. She sees _Someone_ who could not contain her astonishment at finding Mike Lawson when she entered to the room. _Someone_ , who just made the entire operation wobble over a slip of tongue.

Margie regroups, tells herself that he’s no different from any other well-known man she’s come across in situations like these.

A man who’s about to get his famous ass arrested.

 

* * *

 

 

“You know what they tell you about UC, right?” Her TO said. “Keep it real, you’re not a cop yadda yadda, you are what you say you are? Don’t believe it. That’s a whole load of crap. A lady-of-the-night, she's no average cover. A john’s not your average criminal. He’s a desperate man at the brink of being overwhelmed by his passions. That makes him reckless, testy – dangerous. You understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“So you remember – you are an officer of the law. Always. You do this to serve and protect. You’re always a cop. And you remember that because it’s the only way you can get through what you do. It's the only way you can deceive a man inclined to commit a felony into actually committing it. It’s the only way for you not to get involved - emotionally. You get that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Whatever you do – do not get emotionally involved with your target. He does not deserve your sympathy, no matter what excuse he comes up with. No, I don’t care, if Momma didn’a love him or Papa beat the crap out of him or the creepy guidance counsellor touched his boy parts – if he’s about ready to be using your body to work through his issues – he'a damn felon. He deserves to be in jail. Do you understand me?”

“What if he’s just – not thinking straight?”

“That’s for a judge to decide,” Blip Sanders sighed. “Not you.”

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry.”

If it wasn’t for the abject silence in the room, she wouldn’t have heard him.

He coughs and speaks louder. “I’m sorry.” He turns his head in her direction, but he doesn’t look at her. “I – this is not something I do.”

She’s heard that before. It is very plausible this is a first time for him. Doesn’t make it any different.

“I – “ He says. “I’m married.” He whispers.

She knows. She knows who his wife is as well.

She blinks, several times. She checks the mirror, her agitation is gone, she’s perfectly still again.

_I’m Margie._

He looks to the side, doesn’t turn around fully. “I’m sure you already know that.” He says. “I’m sure most of your – um – your clients are married. I’m sure they all tell you the same crap. That, they’re good men. That, this is not something they do.”

So, he’s a talker. A lot of them are. Most married men think they are good guys with weaknesses and it's true a lot of them are just looking for someone to talk to. They're struggling. An image they project versus the person they want to be.

She's seen this situation before.

But. This is the first time a john doesn’t really look at her when he talks.

“Well – I’m not a good guy.” He speaks with authority, like that’s a fact known to all the world.

Except – it’s _not_ a fact known to all the world.  Mike Lawson is a proverbial golden boy. He’s a charmer, he’s that perfect blend of sweet, cocky, flirty – but not the kind that offends. He’s a decent man. A gentleman. An all round stand up guy.

Or so the papers say.

 _Mike Lawson, the man you admire, he’s not here in this room, though,_ she tells herself. _Maybe he never existed. Maybe this edgy guy is the real Mike Lawson: Unfaithful husband. Whore-monger._

She’s filled with a righteous indignation, a derision and reprehension that fuels up her game face.

He turns his head to face the wall again. “At least…” He says, softly, unsteadily. “…not good enough.”

“Not good enough for whom?” She asks, without thinking.

“For my wife.” He whispers. She sees the back of his head dip.

Oh.

She sucks in a silent breath and exhales it quietly. His shoulders rise and fall with a long sigh.

She’s Margie.

_You’re Margie. I’m Margie._

_Margie, Margie, Margie._

She walks slowly but self-assuredly towards the bed - the way she's been taught to walk. She places her hand on his shoulder and regards him with a seductive glance – the way she’s been taught to look.

That godawful beard hides that handsome face with boyish attractiveness that had _Someone_ 's teenage heart flutter. It makes him look older; makes it somewhat easier for her to rein in her emotions.

He doesn’t move. Doesn't look up at her. He’s just staring into space.

She sinks slowly, cushions herself next to him, slips her arm across his shoulders – the way she’s been taught to act.

“What’s your name?” She asks.

She feels his body shake. He drops his head, and it rattles too. He makes a burbling sound that’s somewhere between a snort and a cough, except – it’s a laugh. A cruel laugh, blatantly obvious in self-depreciation.

“Like you don’t know.” He says, wryly.

“Let’s pretend I don’t.” She says, sweetly – the way she’s been taught to speak.

His head turns towards her and _Someone_ wakes up.

 _Someone_ sees the face of a tormented, defeated man with nothing but heartbreak in his eyes. Margie rears back, shoves _Someone_ away, gathers all the conflicting empathy and throws it in a dungeon with said _Someone_.  

Margie still sees the heartbreak, but Margie’s insensitive.

“Mike.” He says.

“Hi Mike.” She smiles. “I’m Gi – Margie.” She says, without batting an eyelash.

He doesn’t smile. He just studies her face and then sighs with disappointment. “ _Christ!_ You’re - You’re beautiful.”

 _Someone_ blushes inside, Margie smiles coyly on the outside. Neither of them take the compliment too seriously. “Thank you.” She says.

His face goes blank. He draws back and jumps off the bed like she’s a hot flame and he stuck his fingers in for too long.

“I –“ He shakes his head, blinks rapidly. “I-I-I-I’m sorry.” He says. She notes how his hands tremble by his side. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She drops back on the bed, leans her weight on her elbows and crosses her legs. He casts a glance at her legs but it’s not as appreciative as she expects.

“This is not who I am. I’m not the guy who just – “ He runs his hand through his hair nervously. “This isn’t the example I want to set.”

“Example, for whom?”

“For – for – I dunno – for my fans. For my team. For every –kid that ever looked up to me.“ He interjects, speaks loudly. “Fuck! What am I doing?” He begins pacing up and down along the space between the bed and the wall.

She sighs and starts wagging the leg that’s draped over the other, feigning smoothness that _Someone_ doesn’t possess but Margie has by the spades.

“It’s okay, Mike.” She says, in a soft, gentle, calming voice – the way she was taught. “It’s just you and me here. No one’s gonna know.”

He spins to face her and she almost buckles from the heat and vehemence in his glare.

There he is, Mike Lawson, Golden boy, Star catcher, MVP, All Star, fucking Captain of the _Padres_.

“I’ll know!” He bellows.

In the three-plus odd years she’s been doing this, she’s been yelled at a lot. Threatened, held at gunpoint, smacked, hit – even bit a couple of times. So, even if the outburst takes her by surprise – it doesn’t throw her off.

“Okay.” She says, making a peace sign with both hands, lifting only the fingers off the bed. “Okay.” 

It seems to work. He goes back to prowling back and forth, like a caged beast.

She straightens up and waits.

“You – uh!” He scrubs his beard as he paces. “You a baseball fan?” He asks.

“Not really.” She says.

 _But_ Someone _is,_ she doesn’t say. Someone _even has picture of you stuck to a locker door, right next to Jackie Robinson’s. And that’s going to be taken down pretty damn soon._

“But you are famous.” She offers, when he turns around to look at her.

He spits. Like – not a proper spit with saliva going everywhere, but it’s more like a ‘ _pffth_!’

“How old are you?” He says, casting a glance at her as he strides.

“How old do you want me to be?”

He stops and then glares at her again. “Stop that.” He says. “I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to fuck you – you’re a fuckin’ _kid! Geez!_ Look at you! Are you even eighteen?”

 _Wow, a conscience._  Margie thinks sarcastically. _Always nice when that comes around._

“Yes.” She smiles. “I am.” She frowns playfully. “Rumors are you like ‘em young.”

“Rumors are just that!” He spits. “They’re rumors! I’m not some – sick - pig!” He grinds out.

He stops and gets a distant look, as though something’s just occurred to him. “D’you think that’s why she…?” He trails off,  glances at her like he’s suddenly realized she’s a stranger and then shakes his head.

_Why she – what? Who is ‘she’?_

“Y’know.” She sighs.  “We don’t have to do anything. We can just talk.”

Sure, it’ll prolong the nature of this operation, but what the fuck. Catch him today, catch him tomorrow. A perp’s still a perp.

He huffs out, his forehead furrows, he starts scratching his beard.

There’s also the other way to nab him.

“Or…” She sings. She slips her fingers into her cleavage and fishes it out. The illegal, highly addictive, life threatening and dangerous reason why she’s here in the first place. “…we can just have some fun.”

He gives her a lopsided smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes and shakes his head.

“I hear…” She twiddles the little plastic packet around. “This is all the rage among ballplayers. Basketballers, baseballers, footballers…”

He frowns at her, narrowing his eyes. “Seriously?”  He looks genuinely surprised.

She nods.

“Are any of my teammates…?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

His face becomes sombre, the tone of his voice implies a fatherly-worry. “I should know. You need to tell me their names.”

“Why?”

“Because. I should.” He says, firmly. “That’s illegal. It means they’re in trouble and I should know about it – as their captain.”

She cocks her head at him. To her utter surprise his face spreads into a charming, adorable grin that tugs at her heart.

“Yeah…” He snorts. “And yet here we are, right?” He says, sarcastically. “Tell me about it.”

“I don’t judge.”

“Sure you don’t.”

He finally stops pacing and then drops into the bed beside her.

“What is it?” He asks, nodding at the packet.

“It’s new. Called ‘LP’. ‘Love Potion’. Hits you faster than you can sneeze and improves your muscle response time –“ She bats her eyelashes and smiles a sexy-Margie smile. “-at everything. 

“Are you hooked on that?” He asks, completely unimpressed.

“You wanna find out?” She flaps it in front of his nose.

If she wasn’t surprised before, she’s definitely shocked now. He grabs the packet from her hand and flings it away. “Kick it.” He says, watching its trajectory to the far corner of the room.

She’s flummoxed. “What?”

“Whatever it is, kick it.” He orders her, like he’s a commanding officer. “Get help if you need to. Nothing ends well with shit like that.”

“Oh so…?” She cocks her head. “You gonna give me a speech now, Old Man? Say ‘no’ to drugs, say ‘yes’ to life sorta’thang?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, his cheekbones lift up. There’s a sly, teasing grin. “Well, I am known to give really great speeches.” He says, rolling his jaw, looking at her up and down.

“Really?” She lifts her eyebrows.

“Yeah – “ He winks at her, conspiringly. “You keep saying ‘no’ to drugs, even if they won’t listen.”

It’s quite possibly the dumbest thing she’s heard since high school. But somehow she’s in stitches, even covers her mouth to impede the artlessness of her hacking laughter.

His face changes. He blinks at her, smiles wider – like he’s seeing her for the first time, like making her laugh makes him happy too.

“How old are you, Margie?” He asks.

_Margie. I’m Margie._

“I’m old enough.” She says, between sobs of chuckles.

He nods. “Do you – do you like this?” He asks, like the idea of her voluntarily hooking is preposterous. “I mean – isn’t it dangerous?”

He’d be the first john she’s come across to inquire that way. Most of those motherfuckers thought that all prostitutes did what they did for enjoyment.

“Because I’d get caught?” She prompts.

He catches her chin without warning. She sucks in a deep breath as a thick finger runs over the faint scar over her eyebrow. His eyes narrow pensively. His forehead furrows in thought.

“Because, men can be real jerks.” He mumbles.  “Did you get that from…?” He clears his throat. “Y’know… _working_?”

 _Someone_ got it in a car accident that took Pop away and changed her life forever. Margie, though – Margie got that however the client assumed she got it. Except, no one’s ever noticed it before.

“Yes.” She lies, her throat goes dry.

There’s a worry and a pity in his eyes that hits her deep in her chest. “Is the pay really worth it?” He asks.

“Well, there’s also meeting the occasional celebrity that comes as a perk?” She answers, wryly.

Which, in hindsight, is a mistake.

He closes his eyes and shivers. Like she’s doused him with a bucket of ice water.

She’s not supposed to provoke them or play to get their sympathies. She’s supposed to get them to offer her money and then arrest them for solicitation.

But that’s the problem with _Someone_ – she’s no Margie. _Someone_ doesn’t have her shit together. _Someone_ gets thrown by the way his skin feels against hers.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean it that way.” She regroups, pulling her face back, out of his reach. “I’m sort of on a clock here.”

“I’m sorry too.” He pulls away. That agitated, broken man is back. “I don’t want to do this. I love my wife…I just…”

“Then what is this?” She retorts, too quick, too harsh. _Someone_ speaks, not Margie.

If he noticed that, he doesn’t seem offended. He laughs bitterly, again. He’s laughing at himself, she realizes.

“Payback – I think?” He says, his eyes turning red and wet. “I dunno. I just – I guess I wanted to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“That somehow I manage to ruin everything.” He looks at her when he speaks. He grimaces like he wants to cry but the tears won’t fall.

“What did you ruin?” She asks – again, too quickly and completely irrelevant to her current mission. _Someone_ speaks - again, not Margie.

“My marriage.” He hangs his head. He suddenly looks very small and very childlike, even though he’s a pretty well-built guy with enough hair on his face to make a carpet.

 _Someone_ feels sorry for him. _Someone_ feels like pulling him in her arms and hugging him. Margie, though – just doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do.

“You haven’t really done anything yet.” She offers, thinking he implies this situation.

“I – I don’t understand how, but somehow I did.” He argues. He leans his weight on his knees and sighs. 

Margie attempts to pet his back, but _Someone_ makes her wrap her arm around his shoulder and lean her chin on his arm.

He doesn’t push her off.

“My body’s breaking down.” He whispers. “My – knees are – they’re…” He sighs. “And. I love it y’know? Baseball? I don’t wanna give it up.”

She knows – oh god, does she know. At least, the _Someone_ inside her understands. She knows better than anyone else. She lived it. She thrived off it. _Someone_ wants to punch her fist in the air and acknowledge it, own her love for baseball.

But Margie – all she does is nod quietly.

“Rachel - she loved it too.” He says, his voice thick with emotion. “And…I thought she was happy, but she isn’t – she wasn’t – she –“

“She left?” She asks, startled.

His agitation and restlessness suddenly made a lot of sense.

He sighs. “Worse.” He makes that pitiful indignant chuckling noise again.

“Look.” She says. “Please don’t be offended if I say this, but, you seem like the sort of man who doesn’t need to pay for sex. I’m sure women would be falling over themselves to get a night with you.”

 _Someone_ would know. Her teenage dream, and still a guilty pleasure – fantasizing about Mike Lawson.

He looks at her like she’s crazy. “I’m married.” He states.

“So?”

“Groupies – they’re not...” He breaks off. “I don’t do that.”

She can’t help the way her mouth twitches. He notices.

“Oh man! There’s just no proper way to explain this, is there?" He snorts. "Rachel’s my wife. She’s…” He taps his chest and then tugs his beard - it's a subconscious gesture, one that somehow stumps her. “I love her. I’ve not been with anyone else ever since she came into my life. I can’t just get up one day and fuck some random woman.”

Most men would. She thinks. But clearly, he’s not most men.

“So, you figured it would be easier when you have to pay for it?” She asks, tentatively. “Because – it’s easy to pretend you’re someone else. It’s easier to forget who you are?”

He gives her that tormented expression again and nods.  “I know it’s fucked up.” He lets out a shaky sob.

It’s not. It’s understandable. It’s why a lot of good men ended up in this exact situation.

“I can’t do this.” He says with a finality. He reaches for his pocket.  “Let me pay you for your time.”

“No, it’s fine.” She says, pulling back.

“She fucking someone else!” He growls, suddenly.

Completely - out of the blue, without preamble. 

His face contorts to this wild menacing look. “It wasn’t even a one time thing! Six months she was sleepin’ with him! She’s _my_ wife! I can’t fuckin’ look at another woman because that’s how much I loved her! How much I still love her! So - So - how could she even -!”

He grimaces and then – tears spill out, falling from his cheeks, running into his beard.

_Oh.Oh.Oh._

_Oh god._

He sobs and pulls his wallet and opens it. She waits to see if he’s pulling out a condom or money. When she sees the recognizable sides of green bills - “I’d rather you didn’t.” She says, placing her hands over his.

“I – you’re probably doing this to pay for college or something, right?” He sniffles, starts to shake his hand out. “Here, let me…”

“No!” She shouts.

He snaps his head up to look at her, his hand frozen on half-extracted notes. She squeezes her eyes, desperate to contain emotion, desperate to push _Someone_ back.

“Margie.” He pleads. “This is not who I am.”

_I’m Margie._

His eyes are hazel. Not green as she thought them to be. There are golden flecks intermixed with azure, copper and green pigments. The kind of irises that tend to reflect colour and appear a different shade depending on the ambient light.

He wraps his large hands around her wrists. He runs his fingers over toughened skin, down the edges of her fingers - pitching scars, over the heels of her palm - gun calluses. He looks at her like he’s begging her forgiveness. Where most men treat her like meat, and ignore that she is a living breathing being with feelings.

She feels human, for once. She feels like Gi- _Someone_ , for once. She hasn’t felt like Gi- _Someone_ in a long time.

He tilts his head forward, and she’s drawn by an invisible hold on her heartstrings. She presses her forehead against his, studies the whiskers around his mouth. His nose brushes against hers. Her mouth goes dry and her throat feels parched. She rubs her eyebrows against his. He closes his eyes. 

She swallows, smacking her lips, her eyes flitting up to look at his. His eyelids are lazy in their movements, not quite as restless as hers. A half-mast, gaze lingering on her mouth, flickering up to meet her glance slowly.

His eyelashes are long – and pretty, she notes.

“This is not who you are.” She states.

“Yeah.” He breathes, nodding lightly, his forehead rolling against hers.

She should resist it but she can’t.

He inches back, glances up at her eyes once before his roll shut and he nudges his head forward. She can hear the slow inhale of air, she can see his chest expand, she can see the subtle twitch with which he holds it. She hesitates when the frizzy edges of his moustache brush her lips.

Something buzzes, urgent and loud.

It thunders like a gong inside her head.

They jerk back together. His eyes squeeze before he looks away. She twists her mouth and drops her chin.

The sound is coming from him. It’s his phone.

She rises up and he’s looking up at her with wide, red eyes that are cloudy with confusion. The vibrating cell in his pocket completely ignored.

“This never happened.” She states, in her serious voice. “You were never here. We never met.”

She spins on her heels and runs out of the room before he pursues her – or worse, changes his mind.

 

 

The door right next to the one she exits opens quickly. She hurries into the room and slams the door shut.

“ _Mami_? What the fuck?” Livan hisses at her. “What the hell was that?”

Her heart beats like it’s going to give out any minute, her head throbs, her ears ring, her chest feels tight, her stomach feels odd and a wave of nausea hits. She slaps her face lightly – her skin feels clammy and cold.

“Duarte.” She wheezes. She slams the back of her head on the door, hoping the jolt will knock some sense into her and struggles to catch her breath.

She feels his hands around her shoulders. The coolness of his palms feel strange. Mike’s hands were warm – they felt softer, kinder – they felt like home.

She swallows and opens her eyes, focuses on Livan’s worried brown irises and the dimples on his cheeks.

“Margie?” He asks. “Margie?”

_I’m Margie._

Tears slip out and she slumps.

“Relax, Mami. I got you.” He embraces her, keeps her from sliding down.

“Papi.” She weeps, softly.

“I’m here.” He says, gently. But she can’t feel Duarte against her cheek. She still feels Mike – his warm skin, his furrowed brow, the fuzzy scrape of his beard.

“You heard?” She asks.

She feels Duarte’s chin nod against her forehead.

She reaches inside her bra, fumbles around and rips the tiny device out, tail-like antenna, chip and all. Suddenly – she breathes easier. It’s like it had some sort of grip on her throat and she’s managed to wrench free.

“Delete it.” She whispers. “The recording, please. Erase it completely.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking back at the computers and the recording equipment on the table.

“Yes.”

“What if he wants to see you again?”

“He won’t.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

He does.

Two days later.

The day starts by her getting slapped in the face. Thrice.

It hurts every friggin’ time.

The first slap, she wonders if Mike Lawson knows that Violet Gleason, his friend, the socialite-philanthropist, hotel chain heiress, San Diego’s richest woman, is also a drug baron, escort-pimp and trying to entrap him.

The second slap, she makes a mental note to call dibs for arresting officer for when they crack down on her - Blip owes her that much.

The third slap, the rock in Violet Gleason’s seven carat ring catches the sensitive skin of her cheekbone and draws blood.

“Well, fuck now.” Violet remarks, coldly. “That’s just not going to do. It better not leave a scar or your market value drops and so does your salary.”

“What do you want me to say Madame V?” Margie speaks finally, her cheek burning with pain. “He didn’t want any of the shit! He didn’t even wanna have sex!”

“It’s your job to _make_ him want some!” She screeches. “He was a keeper, Margie. I wanted him a happy customer.”

With their constant traveling, wide social and professional network, high life partying – pro-ballers made the perfect targets for Violet’s enterprise. Mike Lawson would be a _huge_ catch for Violet. The perfect cover. Honey-trap him, blackmail him, probably use his connections to get ‘LP’ into the baseball circuit, maybe even use him as a mule.

_I’m Margie._

“Now, go get your face fixed.” She flings a card at her. It’s got the name and number of a plastic surgeon.

She uses the trip to the doctor as an excuse to make the rendez-vous with her superiors, just so she can get her second dressing down for the day.

On the plus side that angry welt across her face is the probably only reason the Captain doesn’t blast them for a full half-hour as is his way. Livan and her get yelled at for a solid fifteen minutes instead.

The whole ‘accidentally’ botching up the recordings and deleting them by mistake doesn’t go as well with the Cap as they thought. He's certainly a man who does not believe in going easy on first time screw ups. Livan stays expressionless, keeps quiet, takes the flak for her stupidity. That’s the thing with her partner, he has her back, no matter what.

She doesn’t tell the Cap who the john was. “He got cold feet. Didn’t pay, just took off before I could get any intel.” She explains.

The Cap doesn’t ask why it didn’t go through. His faith in her is implicit and she knows it.

In the corner, Detective Sanders stands quietly. Her handler, TO, mentor,  pain-in-the-ass friend, guide to the world of Vice, former Gangs detective, undercover expert and friggin’ human lie detector. 

He regards them with his quiet soul-piercing gimlet eyes making it obvious that he doesn’t believe them.

 

Having been yelled at by two bosses, she trudges her way to get yelled at by the third.

Margie works as a waitress in the off-hours at Violet’s nightclub. The club – unimaginatively called – “ _The Club_ ”  is a legitimate front for all Gleason’s operations, provides a fishing ground for the peddlers, provides a legal medium to pay her girls for their ‘extracurricular services’, creates an employment opportunity for her deadbeat loser son, Vincent – also the manager.

A complete profligate, party-animal, spoilt brat, with absolutely zero skills for a real-world survival, a bully and lecherous degenerate, Vincent gets away with anything, except ‘spoiling Mama V’s merchandise’ i.e. trying to screw women who work as call girls on the side.

Vincent loves yelling at Margie as a habit for no reason. Marge reckons it’s because a) he’s not allowed to fuck her b) she’s not a crier c) he can’t find another scapegoat.

It’s sun down, almost time for the club to open and she’s late. She reckons, she’s going to get yelled at for a reason this time.

Except – it doesn’t happen. Mike Lawson is there. Waiting. For her.

His eyes widen at the sight of her face, his gaze lingers on her swollen cheek.

“Hey! Margie!” Vinnie Gleason hollers, giving her a dirty look on the side. “Looks like you have an admirer. He’s been waitin’ on ya a whole half hour. Get him a drink would ya? On the house?”

Margie bites her lips and waves nervously at Lawson.

“Better do good this time, bitch.” Vinnie threatens in her ear as she walks past him towards the bar.

She narrows her eyes at Vinnie in reply, then straightens her face into a smile for Lawson. “Hey!” She chirps. “What can I get ya, Mr. Lawson?”

He casts a worried glance in the direction that Vinnie goes and then back at her. “Er...beer’s fine.” He says. He gestures at his own cheek and then points to hers. “I am pretty sure that wasn’t there two nights ago.”

“What are you doing here?” She hisses through her teeth, ducking her head to reach for the cooler.  “What did you tell Vinnie?” She slams the bottle in front of him.

“Did he do that to you?” Lawson’s eyes go wide -  which for a guy with inset eyes - makes his fuzzy face rather comical.

“This is my day job.” She mutters. “He’s my boss.”

“I came here - thinking he’d be able to get in touch with you. I didn’t know you worked for him.”

“Did you tell him I took off?” She murmurs.

“No – I – I told him I didn’t want to…do the deed.” Mike says, looking worried.

She stares at him.

“Look, Vinnie is a friend of mine. He told me that you were an escort, that you weren’t averse to ‘helping a guy out’ - his words, okay?” He scrubs his face, scratching at his beard. “I was not thinking straight. I know it doesn’t make what I did or was about to do right – I guess I came in a moment of weakness. Not that it makes it any better.”

She keeps staring at him.

He sighs. “I just found out about Rachel’s affair, Margie. That kind of thing doesn’t leave in you a steady mental state.”

_I’m Margie._

She crosses her arms across her chest and then nods.

He scans her. Not with creepy, lecherous eyes, he just – takes her in. She shifts, uncomfortably aware of her skimpy clothing.

“Now, please…” He asks, with a soft voice. “How did you get that?”

“Where else? My pimp.” She admits.

That shuts him up. His mouth opens and closes. He clears his throat and - “Look, I just – I was worried about you.”

“Do you make it your business to worry about all the hookers you…”

“I don’t.” He bites out. “I told you – I don’t do that. I don't mix with your kind.”

She sniggers with indignant annoyance. “My kind, is it?”

“I don’t mean it that way.”

“No, I think you meant it exactly that way.” She says, twisting her mouth.

“Fair enough.”

“It’s just typical of you men, isn’t it? My kind?” She rebukes. “Tail’n’pussy’s good enough, but the rest of me isn’t?”

“Hey! I just said you were right, Margie!” He barks.

 _Margie_ stops talking. For one, she remembers she’s Margie. She’s irritated and cranky, her cheek hurts. She’s also fed up of being in constant war-of-the-personalities with _Someone_. _Someone_ who lives inside her, _Someone_ who is a dedicated cop, but _Someone_ who is also fed up of this whole UC gig.

He clucks his tongue, hissing at her. “Geez!”

She exhales, long and slow.

“What do you want, Mr. Lawson?” She asks, feeling a little disappointed, because there is a real possibility he may still want sex.  “You wanna meet up tonight? Be ‘helped out’?”

“No –!” He looks disgusted, then apologetic. “I - I wanted to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yeah.” He says. “I wanted to – give you some money. Maybe it’ll help you get out…of…whatever it is you do.”

She blinks - can’t really vocalize her words. “W-What?”

He shrugs.

“Money?” She echoes. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He smiles.

“In exchange for what?”

“Nothing.” He says. “Look – treat it as a loan if you have to. Pay me back whenever or don’t pay me back at all.”

“And do you make a habit of this? Just doling out money to call girls?”

“No!” He starts tugging at his beard. “Y’know what –? Forget it!” He slams some money on the counter - money, for the drink – and spins on the barstool.

“Why?” She blurts, stopping him.

He spins back to face her. “Look, I –“ He starts to say and then sighs. He rubs his forehead and scratches his beard. He sighs loud, a couple of times and then speaks, slowly.

“Not everyone makes it in life.” He says. “Sometimes, you’re able to earn an honest buck, and sometimes – you gotta hustle.” He says. “And – _I’m_ not a guy to judge. If you are really into – your line of work. Like – if you _like_ doing this, if it is your chosen profession in life, then hey! Great! But – “ He points to her cheek. “It doesn’t seem like it. And – sometimes people just need a break.”

Margie voices the exact same query that _Someone_ is thinking. “Are you for real?”

“I’m not pretending to be some saint or social worker.” He says. “Life is tough. I know that. And – I just - I feel like you’re smart and you deserve better.”

He _is_ for real.

She glances up, finds Vincent spying on them.

“You made a mistake by coming here, Old Man.” She says. “You should have listened to me that night. I can’t protect you if you keep coming around.”

“Protect me from what?”

“You need to go.” She whispers. “Please, go.”

“Margie?”

 _I’m Margie._ “Yes?”

“Can – can I talk you? Can I call you?”

“Why?”

“I just want someone to talk to.” He groans. “I know it’s stupid…”

It’s not stupid. His wife cheated on him. He’s hurting and lonely.

She purses her lips. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea.” She says.

He looks forlorn. “Will you at least call me if you need help?”

“What if I kill somebody?” She retorts.

His face breaks into a smile and he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll help you bury the body.” He sniggers.

She bites back a smile by twisting her mouth.

He makes a cute-ish face of apprehension. “You’re not gonna - you won’t actually expect me to do that, would you? For real?”

She breaks into small laugh, and covers her mouth. “No.”

He gets that adorable look again. Like he can’t believe he made her laugh, like her laughter gives him joy – and self-worth.

She sighs, pushes a tissue at him. “Write down your number. I call you… _not_ the other way around”

He looks relieved, and grateful.

“Mike.” She ducks her head and whispers in his ear. “Vinnie’s not your friend. Okay? Do you hear me? He’s nobody’s friend.”

He blinks with confusion. Then he nods, slowly.

At least, one can’t accuse him of being stupid all the time.

 

* * *

* * *

 

She was recruited, about three months before her formal graduation from the academy. They waited for her twenty-first birthday to swear her in private. The Captain and Blip Sanders were the only attendees. She wasn’t allowed to call Will, she wasn’t allowed to tell Mom.

Sanders would tell her later than he wasn’t for her, not at first.

“Too pretty and too young.” He would tell her later. “’S what I told the Cap. You’re the youngest UC I’ve ever trained. ‘Pretty’ ’s alright, you can use it to your advantage but ‘young’? Youth’s a major problem out on the street. Makes you jumpy – makes you wanna be a hero, make you run into open fire tryin’na prove something. I like my UCs to _look_ young, not _be_ young.”

“So why me?”

“You’re mature for your age, don’t get riled up easily and can use your head under extreme duress.” Sanders answered.

Traits, that she had from being a ballplayer. Traits that might have done her some good in the minors, maybe even carried her to the majors along with her screwball, if she’d taken up the _Padres_ offer. Traits, that Sanders felt could be honed for Vice. And Sanders was correct. Turns out she was pretty good at Vice work.

Except – and there was no other nice way to put this – she hated it.

It was all fun at the beginning. Very cloak and dagger, the pay was slightly higher, and there was the fact that it looked really good on her CV.

But then reality slammed her like the swerving car, driven by a drunk, that killed her Pop.

Her first operation, she was nearly raped. Second operation, she was nearly killed. Third operation was a bust because of a departmental mole.  Fourth op – her partner, a woman with two kids, was found dead in the sewer, so she was extracted, prematurely.

They promised her this was the last one. They put in a hotshot, sexy-face, easy-going, ex-narco as her partner; had her ‘graduate’ her from a low-life hooker to a high-end one, promised her a lot of career-progressing placements once it was concluded.

Doesn’t stop her from wondering whether it’s worth it.

* * *

 

Every now and then, Duarte and her walk by the bay at night. Sanders encourages downtime, even while on the job. Says it will help her relieve stress, help her gain some feeling of normalcy.

She never feels normal, is the thing. She never feels like the person with the name she was given at birth. She’d been a Vera, a Dominique, a Chantelle, a Samantha. She always had a hard time remembering her cover names and more than once it got her into a sticky situation.

It was Blip’s idea – not to acknowledge her as her, to keep _Someone_ separate from her cover. It’s been more than two years now since she’s heard _Someone’_ s name. Problem is – she’s been under so long, she doesn’t know if _Someone_ even exists anymore.

“You think he’s for real?” Duarte asks her after she confides her interaction with Lawson.

“I think so.”

He nods pensively.

“What do you think?” She asks him.

“You’re good at reading people, Mami. So...I trust your judgment.”

That's bullshit. Duarte doesn’t trust anyone but himself.

“Ah!” She grins, when she figures it out. “So you did check out his story?”

“His wife is having an affair for sure.” Duarte smiles at her. “Pediatric heart surgeon in LA. She moved out last week.”

She thinks of Pop. She thinks of him, lying dead on a pavement, never having known about Mom and Kevin. She thinks of Mike – this invincible, disciplined baseball player, a legend, star catcher and homer-cranker. This suave, charming, funny guy that she’s seen on TV.

She thinks of him as she saw him that night, feels her heart drop to her belly and shudders.

Maybe ignorance is bliss.

“An affair isn’t just about sex, Mami.” Duarte comments, like he’s sensing her musings. “It –  might be emotional at first – can turn into something more.”

“Doesn’t make it right.” She says.

“No.” He agrees.

“Do you think I should call him?”

“Do you like him?”

She doesn’t answer that.

“C’mon. The whole department knows you’re his biggest groupie.”

“I’m not a groupie!” She protests weakly. “I’m – a fan. There’s a difference.”

Duarte smirks. His cutey-pie dimples shine and somehow they make her feel lighter. He shakes his head and then speaks seriously. “I think it might complicate things with the operation.”

She groans and pinches her mouth. She agrees fully. “I’m sick of it, Papi.” She complains. “Does it make me a weak person that I’m sick of it?”

“Well – most UCs always get a break between missions. That’s never been the case with you.” He says. “So I say, you’re stronger than you think you are. I say – if you weren’t sick of it, you’d be less human.”

“Aww –“ She elbows him. “You’re such a sap, _hermano_!”

“Let’s make one thing clear – you’re no _hermana_ of mine? Okay? I have dreams about you that I would not have about a sister.”

“Eh gross.” She gags and then giggles.

“We’re close to the fish, Mami.” Duarte rubs her head affectionately. “Just hang in there, _bueno_?”

 

_Hang in there._ She tells herself when the fucker punches her in the face – she feels a sharp pain in her lip and feels blood trickle down her chin.

_Hang in there, don’t react._

He kicks her in the stomach.

_Hang in there, wait. Duarte can hear you screaming._

He grabs her hair and slaps her face hard.

_Hang in there…he’s coming._

And then he reaches for her skirt. She waits till he’s closer and then slams her knee up – jamming it at his crotch. He recoils, retreats back wailing like a hyena.

The door crashes. Duarte and the tactical team rush in. She scrambles away, crawls to the door, ignores the bodies rushing in, shouts from black-uniforms.

She doesn’t wait.  She runs.

Doesn’t stop – even when her partner calls after her. She runs out into the corridor, out of the hotel into the night. She runs away from Margie who’s trying to get her to calm the fuck down.

She’s done being Margie.

 

* * *

 

 

He picks up after five rings.

“It’s m-m-me – Gi- Gi Margie.”

“Margie who?”

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

“Hey! Hey!” His voice becomes perky. Relief floods her. “I’m kidding. Of course I know who. Hi, how are you? What's up? D’you miss me?”

“Is this a bad time? Are you with some-”

“No…no…I was just watching the _Cubs_ game footage-”

“Yeah, so I’m in trouble.” She huffs. “Like real trouble, Old Man.”

“Okay.”

“I need a place to crash. Just for tonight. Look, you don’t have to do this.”

“Okay!”

“You don’t have to help me.”

“Okay!”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Okay!”

 _Ugh!_ The man is so infuriating. “Okay what?” She shrieks.

“Okay – should I come pick you or should I give you my address?”

She half-laughs, half-cries with relief.

"Geez!" He adds. “By the way…” She hears the playfulness in his voice. “I do not appreciate you calling me ‘Old Man’.”

“Sure thing…” She grins, in spite of herself. “Old Man.”

 

 

It’s bad enough she’s bolted from her op, scurried away like a cowering rat, probably proved the naysayers right. It’s bad enough that Sanders and Duarte are probably freaking out, worried sick about her. It’s bad enough that she’s laid waste to months and months of hard work, jeopardized the operation...

Now, she’s endangering a civilian’s life.

A civilian who lives in the fanciest crib she’s seen since – well never.

She presses the buzzer on a gate to _the_ gate of a ‘whatever’ that thing is called: Mansion, house, mini-palace, glorified fucking architectural fishbowl?

She hates it on principle: too much glass, too much visibility. But, she knows the security is state of the art.

The video pops on. “Hey!” A grainy image of him says. A beep sounds and she hears the gate open. “C’mon in.”

“I don’t have money for the cab.” She says, feeling stupid.

It doesn’t seem to bother him. “Oh sure – don’t worry about it. I’ll be out in a sec.”

She adjusts her hoodie, looks around hoping his neighbours aren’t the curious sort. The neighbouring houses on either side have high trellis walls covered in enough foliage to make a forest blush with shame. Clearly, they value the 'mind your own business' philosophy. _Good_.

She notices his biceps first. She can’t be blamed for it, can she? She’s never seen a man rock a Henley the way he does. He looks relaxed, cheerful. More the Lawson she knows from TV. He looks like he’s just taken a fresh shower, chewing gum with easy movements, and there’s a smile on his face when he emerges out of the gate.

It’s like he’s happy to have her come by; like, the fact that a woman of a dubious reputation seeking refuge with him is not a bad thing.

Of course, it's short lived. His eyes darken unhappily at the sight she presents. The smile fades – slowly.

The cab guy recognizes him. She skulks away into the shadowed driveway, while he pays the guy the fare, adds a tip. Sends him off with an autograph and a charming smile that would never betray that he’s seen her face under that hoodie.

She’s surprised at how quiet he is about it. She half-expects him to give her the third degree right there, outside his house – that’s how pissed off he looks. He’s masticating like he’s trying to kill that piece of gum between his teeth.

He says nothing, though. Merely catches her hand and leads her into his palatial abode.

She allows herself to be led – exhausted, limping, ready to pass out. Her whole body’s thrumming with excitement, but it’s a matter of time before the pain’s going to hit her.

“Jesus, Margie! What the fuck happened?” He exclaims, once they’re up the steps on the patio. “Let me call…”

_I’m Margie._

“No, you won’t.” She orders him, shrugging his hand off. “You will not call 911, you will not take me to the hospital. I’m fine.”

“Sure fooled me.” He clenches his teeth.

“I’m fine. Just – looks worse than it is.” She says, bouncing on her heels, hugging herself.

“Margie - you’re not thinking straight! You might…” He reaches for the hood and pushes it off, thumbs her swollen temple and lets out a blasphemous expletive. “You might have a concussion.”

_I’m Margie._

“Look you don’t have to do this,” She says. “I can’t go to the hospital because…”

“Because?”

“Because of what I do.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem for the ER docs…”

“Listen Old Man!” She hisses. “A lot of questions are gonna be asked and I can’t answer them.”

“What about a free clinic?”

“No.”

He sighs and nods. “Margie please…” He starts to say.

“Don’t call me that!” She screams.

Like - right _there_ – outside his tempered glass front door, on his patio.

He’s stunned into silence.

Frankly, she’s surprised he isn’t on the phone right now calling the looney bin. His jaw ticks, he gives her a once over and then opens his front door.

“In, now.” He orders her. Like he’s a fuckin’ commanding officer. Like she’s a fuckin’ rookie on his team.

“Mike!” She pleads, aggravated and exasperated. “If I _could_ go to a doctor, a clinic, a hospital or even a cop – don’t you think I would?”

“Yeah okay.” He mutters, sounding categorically annoyed. He places a hand on her back to nudge her in.

It’s comforting, steady. It feels like –

“You might be bleeding internally.” He states, as she saunters in.

“I wouldn’t be walking around.” She answers, looking around at his sophisticated urbane interiors.

Any given night, she’d be admiring his home. This isn’t any given night.

“Unless you’re in shock.” He says. “C’mon.”

“Where?”

He doesn’t answer her. Just grabs her hand and steers her. She feels like a six a year old, trotting after her disapproving father.

It’s a pretty long walk, or maybe she feels that way just because that’s how big his house is. They walk through a living room, a mini-kitchen, round a gorgeous infinity pool, into what seems like a guest room.

She’s barely aware of the whats, the whys, the wheres and the hows. Her brain – refuses to process anything. He is – for all purposes a stranger. They met under questionable circumstances. If she’s supposed to wonder why she feels so secure, trusting in a man who – well – she really doesn’t know – she doesn’t.

He gestures at her, points to a bed and then gives her a firm look that makes her feel like she’s fifteen again trying out for NC state: Pop’s put down the signal, she nods - all she has to do is pitch the screwgie.

She plonks down and winces. Everything starts to hurt – all at once. Pain smarts though her. Her whole body writhes from the inside out. She could claw off her face that’s how bad it is. She groans and falls back on the bed.

“I’m gonna ask you to take off your clothes now – okay?” His voice comes later.

“Why?” She sits up, grabbing her side.

“Because I have to check for injuries.” He says. “If you’re not going to get proper medical help – then at least let me use my pathetic, wimpy, basic sports injury knowledge to take care of you.”

“I just need a place to crash.” She sighs. “Nothin’ more.”

“Look, if you’re going to bleed out or die – you’re not doing it on my watch.” He barks.

She gapes at him.

He looks remorseful, suddenly.

So, that’s how he expresses worry and concern and…frustration: by being a crabby, grouchy, curmudgeon.

It’s kinda cute. He's like a grumpy softie and she’s seized with urge to just hug him.

“Besides,” He snorts. “All that blood wouldn’t go with my white interiors!”

She’d call him out on his stupid jokes but she’s too tired. She huffs and reaches for the zipper on her ankle length boots and slides it down. He looks away.

This –a one time playboy, a man who was planning to pay her for sex – looking away. Talk about ironies.

“Don’t take off your bra if you don’t wanna.” He mutters, keeping his eyes averted as she unzips her leather skirt.

“I’m not wearing a bra.” She says, unzipping her halter and shrugging it off. The tiny little audio unit flops on the bed. She sneaks her hand around it and tucks it into the little pocket sown into the halter.

She stands up, wearing only the cotton bikini-cut panties and nothing more. She crosses her arms over her exposed boobs groaning as her sides stretch achingly. The whimper she makes has him jerk his head towards her. Eyes worried at first – and then widening again at the sight of her.

His eyes darken – but not with anger. She notes the way he swallows.

His gasp – is – well – flattering.

Yeah, he’s seeing her naked, Yeah, he’s Mike Lawson. Yeah – this is highly inappropriate. Except, she’s too fucked in the brain to care.

If this ever comes up in court, she can always plead temporary insanity.

He comes forward hesitantly, lifts up an icepack that he’s been holding all this time. Gestures to her lip first then presses it to her face, and the side of the cheek. The icy hit makes her dizzy. She hisses, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the world from spinning around her and wobbles. His arm slips around her back. His palm presses on her skin.

Soft, comforting, steady – warm. It feels like –

Like home.

He helps her sit.

She trembles. It could be the ice pack – it could be the pain – it could the sensation of his open palm on her bare shoulder blades.

She’s far too woozy to make sense of anything. She just stays there like a lifeless puppet being commandeered. Vaguely aware that her wrists are being moved and that the ice pack is being lifted off her face.

She opens her eyes when she can. Somehow he’s managed to make her drape her arm over the breadth of her bosom, the forearm covering her breasts for modesty. The other wrist is being placed over her head, giving him a view of the side that also feels the worst. He prods gently and her arm snaps, grappling at his muscly bicep at first. He wraps his hand around hers, gives it a reassuring squeeze. She exhales and lifts her arm over her head again. She closes her eyes as he trails his fingers over the ugly yellow-purple blotches over her stomach and side. The pain is getting unbearable by the second. Everything’s spinning.

“What happened, Margie?” He asks. The tenderness in his voice evokes a flurry of tears that stop behind her eyes.

_I’m Margie._

She says nothing.

"Who did this?"

She says nothing.

"Was it a client?"

She nods.

“This looks like -“ He gently pats the bruise on her stomach. “Did that motherfuckin’ SOB kick you?”

“Yes.” She says.

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” She winces.

She has a nebulous sensation of being covered. Like he’s pulling something around her, draping it over her shoulders. It feels fluffy – like a bathrobe. Something cool and wet is being smoothed over her face and hair. It pricks over specific points of her face.

Her vision is sort of unreliable now. All she can focus on is his beard. There are small little patches of grey in his beard. She feels him place the ice pack in her hand and guide it to her lips. She dabs it on her face obediently while he continues to clean up her face.

“He’s just that sort of man” She speaks.  

“What sort?”

“The kind that likes to hit women – maybe it’s what he gets off on.”

He nods, doesn’t urge her to speak. 

But she does anyway. “I told him to pay up first…” She starts with the truth, her voice shaking, her body trembling with every ugly sensation.

Divulging confidential information to a civilian? A new low for her. But hey - she can always plead temporary insanity, right?

“And – then…” She blinks the tears away.

“And then?”

“He said he’d already paid online.” She echoes, when something clicks in her mind. A small piece of a puzzle falling in its correct place. She puts the ice-pack down, thinking it over as he dabs something at her fat bleeding lip. A familiar, bitter taste enters her mouth, and it stings.

"It's antiseptic." He says. "It's gonna hurt a bit, okay?"

"Okay."

“You’re right.” He says. “It looks worse than it is. You were very lucky. Nothing’s broken, I think.”

“My ribs….?” She asks, looking down at throbbing her side.

“Probably just hairlines.” He assures. "Nothing major."

She doesn’t say anything.

“Margie.”

She hisses angrily.

“Okay –then.” He rolls his eyes. “Rookie.”

“Rookie?”                                                                                      

“What the fuck do you expect me to call you?” He bellows. “You’re acting like the stubborn twenty-something brats they hire as ballplayers these days!”

She would have laughed if his face hadn’t changed. It’s obvious he instantly regrets his outburst.

Oh god. She is not being fair to him here. She’s not even being sensible.

_I’m Margie._

“Margie’s fine.” She mutters.

“Except, it’s not your name, is it?” He asks her. “It’s probably been your name for a while – but that’s not who you are, is it?”

Her vision is hazy. But damn - if his eyes weren’t a strange sort of beautiful. They looked grey under the brilliance of white light and white walls. He picks the ice-pack from her lap and starts dabbing it on her lip. She hisses as its cool numbness sings through her body.

“And how long have you been holding on to that brilliant idea, hotshot?” She taunts him.

“For a while…” He says. “Maybe since we first met. So, what is it? Your name.”

 _I’m Margie._ “Margie.”

“No, it’s not.” He says.

_I’m Someone…I haven’t been in a while._

“You’re right.” She whispers, mesmerized by his eyes. “It’s not.”

He combs her hair back. Picks at the grungy strands that are stuck to her forehead sealed by congealed blood. He looks at her with an affection she believes she does not merit.

“It’s okay.” He says, with a teasing smile. “It’s just you and me here. No one’s gonna know.”

“Ginny.” She says, even before he finishes. His eyes widen a bit, like he wasn’t prepared for her to give in so easily.

The word feels foreign on her lips. Her given name...feels strange, when she expresses it.

Tears slip out – one, another, and then they’re just trailing down her cheeks in a steady stream.

“Ginny, my name is Ginny.” She whispers. “Ginny Baker.”

His cheeks lift and the corners of his eyes crinkle. A heart-warming, unpretentious smile splays across his mouth. He nudges her till her head drops, tucked into the side of his neck. She closes her eyes and inhales his scent. Clean with a hint of cologne, mostly masculine, warm and refreshing.  A soothing hand caresses her hair.

“Well, well, well, look what we got here.” He rumbles softly. His voice is low, hypnotic, humourless, but kind and affectionate. “Ginny Baker, in the flesh.”

 


	2. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouraging response.  
> 

_Ginny, my name is Ginny. Ginny Baker._

It’s a dream. It has to be.

She’s wearing her baseball uniform. It - feels right. She’s on the mound and he’s there, so far away in the catcher's box, squatting on his haunches. How is it that she sees those intelligent, hazel eyes from behind a caged mask at this distance? How can she feel that downy softness of his beard?

“You’re a ballplayer, rookie!” A voice sounds in her ear.

She turns to it. There’s nobody.

From across the distance, he punches his glove. It's thumping bellows in her head. He puts down the sign.

Change-up?

_No._

She can almost imagine him squint with annoyance.

Fastball?

_No._

Screwball?

_Yes._

She nods.

He nods – but she can feel his reluctance screaming all across the sixty feet plus distance. Two screwballs – two strikes – she should throw a fastball– but she doesn’t trust her fastball.

She winds up and releases.

“Strike three!”

_Perfect!_

He’s bounding off his feet, punching his fist in the air. There's pure joy in his face. There's strange sort of love in his eyes. She’s happy. She's - vindicated. 

_It’s right. This feels right._

 

She’s falling and then she’s not. 

 

The floodlights give a distant fluorescence to the plush green of a well-manicured baseball field. She looks at the diamond. She sees the sixty feet six inches distance between the pitcher’s mound and the catcher’s box. Both - empty.

She’s not in a baseball uniform. She’s wearing athletic pants and a sweatshirt, functional, comfortable – feels right. There’s the strap of her backpack, it's weight slung across one shoulder.

 _I’m here._ She thinks. _I made it. The major leagues. This is who I am. This is what I am._

She turns around and Pop’s there – looking about the same as the last time she saw him when he was alive. She knows it’s another dream.

“We did it Pop.” She says, softly, her voice quivering, tears welling up.

There’s always pride in Pop’s eyes, but it never reaches the rest of his face. His mouth widens – but only a sliver. He never smiles fully. It’s like he’s waiting for a reason and this reason isn’t good enough.

“We ain’t done nothin' yet.” He says.

 

She’s falling and then she’s not. 

 

She's wearing her police uniform. It - doesn't feel wrong, but it doesn't feel right, either.

_On my honor, I will never betray my badge, my integrity, my character..._

The oath feels true. There's a gun on her hip that feels heavy.

_Is this who I truly am? Is this what I'm supposed to be?_

She's staring Death in it's formless face.  Pop stands right behind it. He's waiting on her.

"Who am I...?" She asks them both.

There's no answer.

 

 

* * *

 

She wonders if this is what the first circle of hell feels like – this smorgasbord of pain. The sheer magnitude of which is such that it makes discerning one type from freakishly possible: a throbbing all over her face, a lancing on her lips, spasms on her side, nagging aches on her belly - all that and the prick and sting all over her body.

Her eyes flutter open. She’s half ready for the mini-explosions that will follow when she moves. Except – she doesn’t want to.

It’s not the pain that keeps her still. It’s a warmth and a comfort that’s strange and familiar at the same time.

It’s not the thousand-plus-thread-count Egyptian cotton, or the goose-feather pillow that she’s clutching to her chest instead of under her head. It’s the firm, thick, warm muscle she’s using as a pillow in its stead -  bicep, triceps and everything between. It’s the hard chest that’s supporting her curved spine, large knees folded under hers, the deadweight of the other arm hugging her waist.

She doesn’t quite remember how she ended up like that, fast asleep, spooned into him. Vague memories whisper - the soft brush of his beard over her face, the warm skin of his neck against her eyelids.

She knows this is the same room he led her into last night, she knows it’s not his personal bed. She doesn’t know why he chose to stay holding her. She doesn’t care if it’s wrong or inappropriate. She only knows that she wants it - the security of his embrace, the lulling, consoling sound of his soft, steady breathing, the safety of his aura.

An inadvertent groan escapes when her head starts pounding again. It's loud enough to stir him. Her insides protest the separation when he decouples from her. She shuts her eyes and steadies her breathing. She feels her hair being touched, she feels shuffle of sheets being rearranged to cover her, the gentle brush of his knuckles on her cheekbone.

The mattress rises a notch when he lifts off it.

The loss – of whatever he offered, feels so profound that she wonders what sort of idiot Rachel Patrick is to throw _this_ away.

She chides herself as an afterthought. _You cannot judge a man by the way he cuddles. It’s just stupid._

“I know you’re awake, Ginny Baker.” His sleepy voice floats by when she feels him leave the room.

_Ginny. I’m Ginny Baker._

She smiles into the pillow.

 

* * *

_When she was a little girl, she had to make a choice between a pretty dress and a glove, a dance and all-star tryouts._

_She chose the glove._

_The glove became her life. The glove got the attention of a_ Padres _scout. The glove and the mound were her world._

 _A ballplayer – her_ identity _._

_And then Pop died._

_Cut adrift, anchorless, she didn’t know who she was anymore._

 

* * *

 

Ginny’s not a doctor, but as far as pain is concerned – she’s pretty sure it needs higher than: “Extra strength Tyelonol? Old man, for real?”

“Oh I’m sorry.” He mocks. “Did you need something stronger? Like something a doctor can prescribe? Like at a hospital which you chose not to go to? Lemme just run on down and check my stores if I still have that stash of oxycodone.” He says, expanding his eyes at her sarcastically.

She feels like smiling, his snark is endearing and she cannot fathom why. She rolls her eyes at him, instead

“How’d you get out?” He asks her, placing coffee in front of her.

“Kicked him in the nuts.” She answers.

“Seriously?” He echoes.

“Seriously.”

He chuckles at that, places a plate full of green slime on toasts on the kitchen island. She makes a grossed out face. He brings a pan full of fluffy scrambled egg-whites and topples it over the icky looking toasts.

 _Ugh_! She thinks. “I don’t have time to eat.” She mutters, sipping the coffee.

Not true, she’s famished and even if she’s not - she can always make time to eat.

“This is for me.” He says, coolly.

“Oh.”

“I can whip something up.” He says, unperturbed, looking at her like she’s some hindrance that he has to dispose of.

So much for endearing.

“How hospitable of you.” She remarks.

His beard lifts wide on either side, splayed by that shit eating grin he throws before he leans below the island. A whiff of something delicious hits her nose before she sees what he has prepared. It looks and smells so good, she’s drooling.

“ _This_.” He places it in front of her. “Is for you.”  He guffaws when she perks up. “You said you didn’t have time to eat.”

“Egg whites, bile-stained puke on rye bread.” She points to his plate. “That’s just nasty.”

“Avocado spread.” He corrects her, narrowing his eyes at her in that cute way he does.

“Icky green shit.” She insists. “What is this though?” She looks at what he made, picks up the fork, pushes away the small plate he placed by the side and digs in directly. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know.” She says. “I don’t care what it is, I’mma eatin’ it anyway.”

He chuckles again. “That’s what I eat on a cheat day. Whole egg, bacon, sausages…” He trails off, frowning at the way she wolfs down the food. “Geez, Baker!” He exclaims.

“Work hard, eat hard.” Comes her muffled reply from a stuffed mouth. “Mmm! God! This tastes so good! How’d you learn to cook like this? You know what, never mind, I don’t wanna know. I’mma eatin’ it anyway.”

He looks at her, like he thinks she’s cute or something for a few seconds. Then he starts eating his breakfast.

“Don’t you have a game today?” She asks, gulping down some water.

“I do.” He says and then frowns. “You told me you weren’t a fan of baseball.”

“Margie’s not a fan.” She says. “Ginny Baker – well….”

“Ginny Baker still has my rookie card?” He says, lifting an eyebrow up, lines appear on his forehead.

“And a poster on a wall.” She mumbles, completely in awe of the mouthgasm she’s experiencing.

“Really?” His amused reply has her attention. He cocks his head to the side and blinks – like he’s flattered. “You had me up on a wall?”

“Margie didn’t.”

“But Ginny did.” He wiggles his eyebrows. He looks like he wants to laugh out loud at her distinction.

She grunts in reply, loading her fork with the bacon so she can eat it in one go.  She looks up at him, notes the face he makes at her loaded fork and promptly ignores it.

“I’m still Margie, for the record.”

“Whatever you say, Baker.”

She snorts a small laugh and looks down. “You can’t call me my by real name, Old Man. At least – not in public.”

“You see any public here?” He gestures around to his house.

She follows his gaze, appreciates the high ceilings and the abundance of natural light but…in her opinion, his house feels more like hybrid of a posh oversized bachelor-pad crossed with a mid-life crisis love-nest rather than a home. But then again, what would she know about how the rich and famous lived? She was brought up in middle-class neighbourhood in Tarboro.

“Wow, you really have a thing for yourself, hah?” She points to all the art on the walls. Ninety percent of the framed pictures are either photographs or paintings of him.

“They tell me I’m a narcissist.” He shrugs.

“This place feels new.” She remarks. “Have you always lived here?”

“I’ve always owned it, used it as a guest house, rented it out occasionally. Never actually lived here in the true sense of the word.” He sighs. “I had a house further up, near the beach, beautiful view of the ocean –“ He sighs. “…after Rachel left, it didn’t make sense to keep it.”

She nods. “Have you filed?”

“She did.” He says, sounding forlorn.

“When’s your housekeeper comin’?” She says, meaning to change to topic. “I mean, you do have a housekeeper, right?”

He nods. “I gave her the day off. Just in case you…”

“In case I…?”

“In case you plan to stick around.”

She shakes her head. “Aren’t you worried I’ll steal your TV or somethin’?”

“No.”

“Or maybe bring my friends over, trash your precious empty blue bottle collection?” She points to the wall diagonally opposite her.

He glances in the direction she points to and smirks. “No.”

“Or I dunno…take off with the family jewels?”

“I don’t exactly keep the family jewels around the house.” He does the eyebrow wiggle again.

His emotions might as well be written on those lines on his forehead. Lord knows, his beard masks the rest of them. She scrunches her nose. “Seriously, Old Man.” She says. “You do know what I do for a living, right?”

“You’re a call girl.” He remarks, like it’s not a big deal – he doesn’t look at her when he says that though.

“So…?” She rolls her fork around.

“Does that automatically make you a thief?” He looks up at her. “Because in my eyes.” He adds. “It doesn’t.”

He’s a better person than she is, that’s for sure. Maybe that’s his problem. Maybe he’s one of those guys who trusts easily, maybe that’s why he was caught off guard by his wife and –

_And maybe Ginny should top psychoanalyzing him._

“Whatever you say _Monseigneur Bienvenu_.” She quips.

He draws a stool then and sits opposite her and regards her curiously. “Monsi-what?”

“ _Monseigneur Bienvenu_?” She says. “ _Bisop Myriel_? The dude who covered for _Jean Valjean?_ Y’know with the silver stealing and the candle sticks…and the…” She huffs and slaps the granite slab. “C’mon dude! _Les Miserables_?”

He’s rolling his tongue behind his teeth, squinting at her.

“Book by Alexander Doomaz?” He says, slowly.

“Firstly.” She gives him a smug grimace and corrects, well, everything. “It’s pronounced as Alexandre Dumas and secondly – _Les Miz_ was written by Victor Hugo.”

“Mmhmm.” He nods, regarding her suspiciously. “That’s quite the know you got there, Baker.”

_Oops._

She looks at her food.

“You wanna know what I think?”

“No, I don’t wanna know.”

“I think you went to college.”

She knows for a fact Mike Lawson didn't go to college, and if one is being specific,  _Les Miserables_  is high school level reading, but she is not going to tell him that.

“I uh – saw the movie.” She adds weakly and then frowns. “It was a movie, right?”

“Yeah.” He nods and then frowns. “Where’d you go?”

“Huh?”

“To school?”

“I quit, sophomore year.” She answers bluntly. “Couldn’t afford it.”

That wasn’t entirely true. NC state gave her a free ride, all the way – as long as she played for them. It was just – the grief, stress and trauma of losing Pop got to her. So she quit, decided to become a cop, fled to San Diego because it was so far away and…

…and it was the only place she ever dreamed of going when she was a little girl. The home of the _Padres._  The home of Mike Lawson.

He nods and then changes the topic. “You can stay as long as you like. I have to leave soon - for the game.”

“So that’s that.” She says, relieved he's not digging into her life history. “You’ll just leave your fancypants glass house in my care, no questions asked?”

“Yeah.” He says, completely unconcerned.

“I’m not going to –“ She says. “Steal stuff or trash the place. Just so you know.”

“I know.” He nods.

She feels a wave of gratitude for him and hopes that the look she gives him will convey it. “And I’m not going to stay long.” She states.

He gives her a sad knowing smile. “I know, Margie”

_I’m Ginny._

She pouts her lips and exhales loudly. It’s like a jumpstart – all the cogs start to work. She feels some sense of closure as well as purpose.

“I also have to ask you something.” She says, when he makes to get up. “And – you need to tell me the truth. And not ask me any questions in return.”

“Okay-“ He says, slowly. “Shoot.”

“When Vinnie suggested – my services.” She says. “What mode of payment did he discuss?”

 “Er – there is this app.” He says. “The uh – cards are only charged if I went through with…” He concludes with a suggestive gesture.

“So, why’d you offer me cash?”

“I didn’t know how much they paid you – and I figured you could use the money.”

She nods. “Can – I see it?”

“The money?” He makes a surprised face. It’s a decoy to tease her. When she rolls her eyes, he sniggers and pulls out his phone to show her the app.

He answers her questions without reservation. She observes his face – especially his tell-all forehead for signs of lying. There don’t seem to be any. If he finds her questioning suspicious or disconcerting, he doesn’t show it in any manner.

“So, we’re done, Sherlock?” He says, glancing at the time, rising off the stool.

She kneels on the stool – disregarding the way her muscles gripe – leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek – just above the beard line. The skin is baby soft and it makes her smile. “Good luck – for the game tonight, old man.” She whispers.

He turns his face and looks at her mouth. He thumbs the split wound on her lip. It’s numb to any other feeling except that cutting pain.

“You know us ballplayers are superstitious, right?” He murmurs.

“Yeah.” She draws back, and smiles at him curiously. “Why?”

“If we win today – you’re gonna have to give me one of those before every game.” He smiles at her, slowly. "For luck's sake."

God - he had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen on a man.

“You’ll need more than luck to track me down.” She sasses back with a grin.

He nods, glances at mouth - “Yeah.” He breathes - and pulls back.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the height of noon and the blinding solar glare isn’t helping her throbbing headache. She exits the small door by the side of the main gate. Her eyes quickly find a familiar sedan parked about two houses away on the same street.

She shouldn’t be surprised he’s here, she tells herself.

She doesn't need to knock. She knows the car is unlocked. She gets into the passenger seat without a noise. Livan’s sharp gasp of shock as he takes in her appearance doesn’t affect her.

“How’d you figure it out?” She asks.

“After pretty much turning the city upside down all night –?" He smirks. "I had a hunch.” He says, reaching for her face.  He looks back in the direction of Lawson's house. “Where’s Mike Lawson?”

“He left about an hour ago.” She says. “The _Padres_ are playing the _Reds_ today.”

“Does he know you’re a cop?”

“Heck! Papi!  You and I both know I’m no cop.” She spits. “I wouldn’a taken off like that if I was.”

“So what are you then?”

_A failed ballplayer, masquerading as a policewoman?_

She groans. “I dunno…I’m just so tired. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Well I say you’re a cop.” He shrugs.

“I freaked out. I’m sorry. I just – I had to run. It was too – suffocating.”

“I didn’t ask, Mami.” He says. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“I couldn’t go to a hospital, Papi.” She states. “I mean, I know I quit on you guys last night, I just – I didn’t want to risk it.”

“You could’ve called us. You could have come to me. I’m your partner, Mami. How am I supposed to have your back if you don’t trust me?”

“I know.”

“For the record, I still didn’t ask.” He repeats. 

“What about the perp?”

He cackles. “Getting his nuts repaired while the ADA works out a plea.”

She snorts. “Blip?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell Sanders everything. But he is going to issue an APB if I don’t find you within the hour. He already has harbour patrol and the coast guard on alert.”

“Why?”

“He’s worried they’re gonna find your dead body by the wharf. Man! I have not seen that _hombre_ look so scared – ever. Cap’s freakin’ out too.”

“I’m sorry I let you guys down.” She says with remorse.

“No, you scared the shit out of us.” He says. “But you didn’t let anyone down.”

“Looks like I can’t handle the pressure after all, ha?”

“Nobody thinks that. Especially not Sanders.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well – for starters you tell the Cap that you were worried you had a tail and that’s why you stayed far. I’ll handle the rest of the story.”

She smiles at him. He smiles back.

“Well.” She takes in a deep breath, feeling her chest expand with a renewed sense of energy. “It wasn’t all a waste. I got a lead.”

  

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Blip may have been worried sick but he wasn't what Ginny feared. His wife, Evelyn, was a whole bundle of wrath and fury -  _she_ was to be feared.

Ginny whines when Evelyn re-tends to her injuries, jabbing at her open abrasions with more ferocity than pressure. It hurts bad, enough to make her want to vomit.

“Why didn’t you kill him, Ginny?” Evelyn growls. “Blip! Why didn’t _you_ kill him?

A former paramedic, a mother and now a lawyer – one would think she’d be a more rational, compassionate person.

“Mmm – let’s see?” Her husband frowns, “Blowing her cover, federal offence, police misconduct–”

“So what?” Evelyn hisses.

He smiles slyly at his wife. “See, there’s this beautiful, smart, sexy rookie ADA…”  He makes sexy-eyes at Evelyn while he talks, leading to another bout of nausea for Ginny.

“She just happens to have a ‘zero tolerance policy’?” Blip hugs Evie from behind. “And I’m cool with her prosecutin’ my ass for third degree murder, so long as she’s doin’ the sentencin’ and punishin’ as well.” Evelyn blushes. “But that’s not gonna be the case, now is it?”

“Involuntary manslaughter.” Evie says coyly. “You could get off with justifiable homicide and all.”

Blip rubs his nose against Evie’s hair. “You know there’s easier ways to get me off than justifiable homicide…”

“Oh. My. God!” Ginny gags – because, as much as she admires Blip and Evelyn as a couple, _this_ – is just borderline creeping her out. “Guys!” She snaps. “I’m like right here! Is this the part where I choke on my vomit or run naked in the street because I’m scarred for life?”

“Okay, okay.” Evelyn shrugs her husband off and gives Ginny her serious-face. “If Cyber tracks down the developers on the app.” She says. “And you can connect Violet to it then it’s all the probable cause you need for a warrant.”

She nods.

“It would be a lot easier if you’d allow me to speak to your informant.” Blip says.

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” She says.

“Ginny….” Blip sighs.

“What’s the first thing you taught me?” She looks at him. “Protect your C.I.’s no matter what.”

“Actually, the first thing I taught you is ‘do not get yourself killed’.”

“Whatever.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m going to see this through. And then -” She looks at Blip beseechingly. “No more UC.”

Blip nods. “You should take the detective exams. You got the mind for it.”

She shakes her head. “You know where I want to go.” She sighs.

Evelyn gives her an unhappy look and squeezes her hand.

“SWAT’s not gonna happen for you overnight, Ginny.” Blip sighs.

She nods. “I know that.” She prods the healing split lip with her tongue. Evie smacks her wrist. “Ow!”

“I told you to stop doing that!” She hollers at her like she’s one of the boys.

“After all this is done.” Blip says, shaking his head at both of them. “I promise you – we will help you get there. Cap’s gonna pull all his strings to help you out. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You are stuck in Vice for a while, Gin, I’m sorry about that. But – the question is not about the future, the question is about now. Are you sure about going back in as Margie?”

 _No._ “Yes.” She says, sits up straight.  _I’m Ginny._ “I’m Margie.”

Evelyn gives her worried look. Blip just nods at her in that enigmatic way he does.

The sound of a car rolling into the driveway has everybody’s attention. Blip checks through the curtains. “Captain’s here.” He says. “There’s still time to change your mind.”

 _I’m Ginny._ “I’m Margie.” She repeats.

 

Captain Bellamy rarely showed emotion. He was like Pop in many ways. Ginny’s surprised when she sees unshed tears in his eyes. She knows he is a man who cares deeply about the officers under his command. She can imagine what her going A.W.O.L. would have done to him.

All that – _before_ he registers how beat up she is. Then, he’s just plain livid and apologetic at the same time.

It’s unnerving. Ginny would have preferred it if he screamed at her.

“We’re pulling you out.” He says.  “We’ve done some good work.”

_We ain’t done nothin’ yet._

She glances at Livan and Blip sitting quietly on the other side of the table. They look like they agree with his decision. She glances beyond them to Evie. She gives Ginny an encouraging smile.

“You get a week off. I’ve already recommended you for an advanced tactical training course. It’s a great opportunity. There’s trainers from the Feds, the Military – you’ll be a perfect fit.” Bellamy says. “After which – you’ll be back on the beat for a couple of months. I can’t avoid that – seeing as we drafted you straight out of the academy, you don’t have any patrol experience ”

“No.” She says.

“You wanna apply for SWAT, don’t ya? That’s the rule.”

 “Yes – but I want to see this through.” She asserts.

“We’ve got enough cause to get a warrant on Violet’s financials – maybe that will lead us to the supplier.”

“No.”

“Baker…”

_I’m Ginny._

“Margie.” She says.

“What?”

_I’m Ginny._

“I’m Margie.” She asserts.

A pregnant silence falls in this room.

“Violet Gleason is on Forbes list of top forty philanthropists. And we, here, in this room...” She draws a circle with her forefinger. “We’re the only ones who know she doesn’t belong on that list. She belongs in a prison.” She looks at her Captain with a pointed glance.  “You planned this op at a great risk to you career. Nobody believes you. That’s why Margie exists – to gather evidence.”

“And Margie’s given us enough to book Violet on prostitution.” Blip says, gently. “You did it, Gin.”

_I’m Ginny._

“I ain’t done nothin’ yet.” She parrots out.

All the men in the room lean back simultaneously and look at her curiously. It would be hilarious if the air wasn’t so thick with tension.

She shakes her head. “Violet will lawyer up before you get the warrant. And you’ll need more than one UC’s testimony, Cap. I’m working on some assets. I need to do this. _Margie_ needs to do this.”

“Baker.” Bellamy pleads. “We cannot send you back in - like this.”

_I’m Ginny._

“You can and you will, sir.” She says. “I’ll bet you a hundred solid that Violet’s already suspicious of Margie running to the cops. I’m sure her goons are searching for me as we speak. We gotta get on top of this.” She points to bruises. “This gives me –“ She pokes a thumb at herself. “- the perfect excuse to explain why Margie bolted.”

Bellamy looks at her for a long time, gauging her. He looks at Blip – and Blip nods. He looks at Duarte – Duarte nods. He looks at Evelyn – and she shrugs. Then he sighs and relents. “You are up for firearm recertification in two weeks time. That’s all the time you got.”

She nods, rises up when he does. He gives her a kind smile and says. “Be safe…Margie.”

 _I’m Ginny._ She thinks, and then she salutes him.

There’s a look of pride in his eyes when he acknowledges her salute with one of his own.

Blip moves to escort him to the door.

“Oh hey! Did you hear?” Bellamy says, just as he turns around to leave. “ _Padres_ won today. Your Mike Lawson made history. Two grand slams in one inning.”

A teenage girl’s heart flutters. Ginny smiles. Margie has a job to get back to.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“It doesn’t look so bad, anymore.” Cara says, squinting at her, dabbing some lipstick gently over the scab on her lip. “I mean it’s a little too flashy for your style but…”

She looks in the mirror.

_Margie._

“You know I got no style.” She answers, nonetheless she looks at her reflection and agrees. The purplish-blue hues on her skin are camouflaged under a thick mask of pancaked foundation and glitter. She looks gaudy and the make-up is on the good side of slutty…but…

“…at least you don’t look like a victim of abuse.” Cara chirps, voicing her exact thoughts.

“I think Mama V’s gonna be happy with that.” She smiles at Cara. “Thanks.”

“At least she doesn’t unleash the freaks on me.” Cara says, looking at her pitifully. “Not that it makes it any better that I’m a card-carrying member of the ‘Tramps’R’Us’ club – but I own it.”

“Nothin’ pays like the escort service.” She shrugs.

“Nothin’ hurts like this either.” Cara says, sadly. “I think she’s got it out for you, Marge.”

“Maybe I’m special to her.” She mutters.

 _“Oh Margie!”_ Cara mimics Violet's dramatic greeting. _“Oh you poor thing! Oh my baby girl! I was so worried about you! Look at your face!”_

She sniggers in reply.

“We’re on bar duty, you and I.” Cara says. “So, that will be a relief. In case someone gets frisky with you, just signal to me, okay? I know karate.”

She smiles at her with affection. “So, do you know what the party’s for?” She asks.

“Who cares. It’s super exclusive. Lot of celebrities.”

Which explained why Vincent had the entire staff of _The Club_ sourced to Violet’s home up at La Jolla for the ‘small’ party Violet was throwing. Many of the girls who worked exclusively as escorts were placed in specific roles as hostesses.

“Don’t worry Margie. It’s just getting them drinks, entertaining the lonely ones, looking pretty.” Cara drops her voice. “I know that Pascal’s been informally invited.”

She doesn’t react at the mention of Cara’s fuckbuddy, a young drug dealer who comes in from Baltimore with the fresh supplies of the ‘LP’.  She reaches for her phone, pretends to check _facebook_ but sends a text to her team about that intel.

Cara touches up a spot on her hairline and sighs. “I really should to teach you karate.” Cara raises her eyebrows at her, emphatically.

“I know Krav Maga.” She blurts. _Ginny_ – blurts. _Shit._

She turns to the mirror and looks at herself, wills Margie back. When she turns to her friend, Cara looks at her with a resigned disbelief.

“Yeah, that joke didn’t sound so funny in my head, either.” She – Margie - smiles.

Cara laughs and motions to get going.

 

 

Lawson’s glass mansion looks like a suburban condo compared to Violet’s palatial beachfront property. The whole house looks like post-modern palace, decorated specially for the party.

Owing to the sizeable number of service staff, it also enabled them to insert Duarte covertly among the servers under the noses of her heavy private security. Phones were confiscated at the staff entrances, the manner in which they were frisked indicated a check for covert listening devices in addition to weapons.

Duarte and she do their independent recons before the guests arrive and brief their surveillance team in turns. The surveillance van is parked within the estate, disguised as the catering van. 

She hates waitressing. The fact that her body is still in a process of healing doesn’t help. Her feet are killing her as she walks around delivering drinks. Her side smarts every time she has to lift her arm up to keep the tray from hitting one of the guests and her face is burning with all the makeup irritating her skin.

She senses him, before she sees him. She’s returning to the bar after a round of serving drinks when she’s prompted without any reason to turn her head in the direction of the largest balcony that overlooks the ocean.  

She doesn't know why she didn't anticipate this. Maybe she was too focussed with the op that she didn't connect it. There were other celebrities there, several sports and entertainment anchors were present, several other professional athletes were there, some media personalities and actors as well.

He looks very handsome. Dark suit, white silk shirt, no tie – neat pocketsquare.

He looks cheerful and relaxed tonight. Good humour makes him more attractive, she thinks. He’s thronged by a small group of people, men and women; he's laughing and joking, making others around him laugh - the guy she knows from TV.

The man she has seen in private is always pensive, soft spoken, sullen – broken.

She wonders which is the act.

 _Does it matter?_   The Ginny inside asks. _Can they not coexist?_

“Three bars. And they call this a small party.” Cara comments, drawing her attention. She hands her a tray loaded with a variety of glasses. “Scotch, beer – the wine is for the blonde lady, this…” She points to a fruity concoction. “…is for the redhead.” She points in the direction of Mike. “This one….” She motions to the glass of neat scotch and then points to Lawson. “…is for the lumberjack  _Padres_ dude.”

She looks at Cara and then at the tray and then back at Cara and blinks.

“Margie. Take...it…” Cara speaks slowly, as though Margie is stupid and points to Lawson’s group, “to… _them._ ”

“I’d – rather not.” She says.

“Margie!” Cara scolds. She motions to the volume of guests waiting at the bar on her to serve them.

_I’m Ginny._

She puts on her Margie-face, squares her shoulders as she heads to the group.

He’s flanked by a couple of non-baseball sports stars she can identify. One guy is a soccer player from LA Galaxy, another guy is the quarterback of the San Diego _Chargers_. There are two old men in suits, several middle-aged men in suits and some very refined looking women in dresses that are more expensive than her mediocre municipal sanctioned pay could possibly afford.

She keeps her head purposely ducked as she quietly sticks her arm in to the group, handing out the drinks. It’s only when she needs to deliver the cocktail that she lifts her eyes up looking for a redhead, and then realizes who the redhead is.

Rachel Patrick.

She – _Margie_ \- glances around for Lawson.

He’s right there, to her left, looking at her intently.

“Is that for me?” Rachel Patrick’s sickeningly melodious voice gets her attention.

“Yeah.”  She manages and hands her the drink. She twirls the tray so that his drink is turned towards him. His eyes are fixed on her face as he picks up his drink.

Margie – directs the glass of wine to the blonde. The blonde lady stands between Rachel Patrick and Lawson. There’s definitely a vanguard aura to her - aimed at Lawson. When the glass doesn't move from the tray, Margie looks up to find that the woman squinting her eyes at her, peering between her and Lawson.

“I asked for red.” The blonde says, in a cold condescending voice.

“Oh.” She says. “I’ll be right back with it.”

“Excuse me.” A smooth sounding Latino man, in crisp suit stops her. His glass of beer is still full, so she reckons he doesn’t want another drink. “Have we met before?”

_Shit…_

She turns her face to him, panic rising.

 _Ohthankgod!_ “No sir.” She says, sighing inwardly because she has definitely not met that guy ever. She’d remember _that_ handsome a face for sure.

“What’s your name?” He prods.

She notes Mike’s disapproving glance.

_I’m Ginny._

“Margie.” She mumbles.

“Your face is familiar.”

“That sounds like a pickup line if I ever heard one, Oscar.”  Rachel Patrick titters.

Oscar goes red, then to her surprise he apologizes to her. “I know this must seem weird...”

Well, she is a waitress, wearing tiny clothes, serving drinks in a party. She also masquerades as an escort who moonlights as a high-class prostitute. She’s basically a piece of flesh that should be seen and not heard. So, yes, respect from an elite, clearly wealthy guest is definitely weird.

“…I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere.” He smiles at her kindly.

She shifts under the scrutiny of pretty much every pair of eyes in that group. There is just one pair she does not meet – and he’s standing to her left.

“Well, maybe you’ve seen her in an ad or something?” Rachel says. “Did you do any modelling? Even small time?”

“Nope.” She says, impatiently, turning her attention to the blonde. “I’ll go get your red, ma’am.” She says.

The blonde nods.

“No, it’s not that…” The man named Oscar frowns and stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Margie – what is your last name?”

_I’m Ginny._

“Tyrell.”

“Margie Tyrell.” Oscar frowns again and then shakes his head. “No – I don’t think that’s you then.”

“Who’d you think she was?” Lawson says, gruffly, sipping his drink.

She gapes at Lawson with irritation. No doubt _he_ assumes the Oscar dude saw ‘Margie’ at a strip club or in a porn movie or he’s been one of her johns.

Lawson stares back at her with an expressionless face.

“There was this…girl, a player.” Oscar rubs his foreheads. “She played for some local school in Tennessee, I think….hell of a pitcher! Amazzo wanted to recruit her.”

_Son of a…_

She feels the blood drain from her face. She knows that Lawson can see the change because his glower softens.

“Amazzo scouted for the NPF?” An older man with a distinct burr drawls. “When?”

“Not for the NPF, Al.” Oscar shakes his head. “No! The minors.”

“Can I get y’all anything else?” She asks in an attempt to distract him, her voice wavering.

Oscar smiles at her politely. “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to keep you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Al, the old dude says, turning to Oscar. “He wanted to recruit a _girl_ – as a professional baseball player? In the minors…?”

“She had _one_ hell of a screwball, Al!” Oscar says with obvious admiration. “You had to see it to believe it.”

She spins on her heels so fast she trips. A hand curls around her arm to steady her. A hand she knows all too well.

“Thank you.” She says, looking up at Lawson. He doesn’t release her arm, keeps staring at her face.

The expression on his face is exactly like the feel of his palm: warm, comforting, tough on the outside, holding gentleness within.

“Her name was…” Oscar’s voice echoes behind her. “…was it Gina something? Maybe not Tennessee, maybe it was North Carolina?”

She squeezes her eyes, trying in vain to keep the tray stable, the full wine glass rattling softly, the white-gold liquid almost splashing out. When she opens her eyes, _his_ eyes are still on her face.

“I think the waitress is just fine, Mike.” Rachel Patrick’s voice floats after Oscar speaks. She can hear the caustic undertone in it. “You can let her go.”

 _Mike_ ignores her.

“… last name was Baker.” Oscar finishes.

Mike Lawson’s eyes widen at Oscar’s statement. He squeezes her bicep and then unfastens his grip, slowly. She straightens up, squares her shoulders and starts walking back to the bar.

_One foot at a time._

As she walks away she overhears Rachel Patrick’s intrigued query. “What happened to her?”

“You know, I think it was maybe five – six years back…” She hears Oscar’s answer. He sounds perplexed. “ – I don’t know…”

_Pop died. I couldn’t go on. Gave up. Became a cop._

“…maybe she went to college?” Oscar’s fading voice reaches her ears as she puts a considerable distance between them. “Didn’t hear much about her later.”

 

 

_I’m Margie now. I have a job to do._

“There’s a guy waiting for you.” Cara gives her a naughty smile when she comes back.

She doesn't acknowledge Cara.

“Are you okay, Margie?”

_I’m Ginny._

“Yeah um…” She – Margie - gathers herself, explains the wine mix-up situation.

Cara nods then whispers. “Under the bar. There’s a guy waiting for you... _under_ the bar.”

“Huh?”

Cara jabs her finger down, widening her eyes.

She leans over the edge and finds Livan hiding under the corner. He motions for her to come around. She checks the ceilings for the cameras, realizes he’s hiding in a blindspot.

“He’s – my boyfriend.” She whispers the Cara. “He has – attachment issues. I’ll talk to him – don’t want him making a scene.”

“Okay – I got you.” Cara comes around the bar, trading places with her. “You never told me you had a boyfriend.”

She shrugs her eyebrows at Cara as a response.

“Don’t duck – just pretend you’re working.” He whispers. “You got a phone on you?”

She slips her palm under her dress and pulls out the phone strapped to her thigh that escaped security. Some guests come around asking for some drinks. She overdoes a perky smile and serves them hurriedly while Duarte jabs in Blip’s number.

“Clear.” She mumbles when they leave. Livan looks like he’s waiting on Blip to pick up.

“I’ve been made.” He hisses.

“What?” She jerks her head down. “How?”

“How later, who now.” He says, jabbing the buttons. “D’you see a man at your two o’clock? He looks like a _gringo_ but he’s not. Ugly hair, looks like a whale?”

She does.

“That’s Tuyo Sequeira. He’s the right hand man of _La Vibora._ ”

“The who?”

Before he’s able to answer, Cara is in her face. “What the hell, Margie!” Cara shouts.

“What?”

“She said she wanted white.”

“White what?”

“Wine!” Cara waves her hand in the direction of the blonde woman who was talking to Lawson

She shakes her head, trying to jolt her memory. “She said she…”

“I know what _you think_ she said…!” Cara looks irritated.

“He still talking to Violet?” Livan whispers, interrupting them.

Cara scowls at her and in the direction of the bartop underwhich which Livan is crouched. “ _Why_ is he still here?”

Duarte is whispering something into the phone while Ginny diverts her attention to Cara. She slaps three wine glasses onto Cara’s tray. She fills one with white, one with Rose and one with Red. “Let her pick.” She bites out. “Botox shots probably hit her brain and made her senile.”

“What has gotten into you?” Cara says, looking impressed at her retort. “Whatever it is, I like it,” she adds, then she turns around and marches off with the tray.

Ginny looks in the direction of Sequeira and quickly looks away. “He’s talking to Julian Marzano.” She says, casting several furtive glances in their direction. “Violet’s primary accountant. Violet’s nowhere near him.”

Duarte tugs her ankle, she bends under the bar.

“D’you remember I told you?" He asks "About my last op – in Narcotics? The one that failed?  Viper was supposed my target. The big fish –“ Duarte says, holding a hand over the phone. “I almost had him.”

“The one that got away?”

“That _bastardo_ Sequeira, he’s the one who had my partner killed.” Duarte mutters. He puts the phone to his ears and speaks into it. “Sanders! He knows my face. He recognized me.”

She sinks to her haunches, squatting under the bar and hisses at him. “Papi, you better get out of here.”

Duarte doesn’t pay attention to her. He nods, listening to Sanders and then speaks into the phone softly. “I know, Sanders, but this operation just got complicated. The Feds have a target on his back as well _._ ”

He goes silent, as Sanders speaks his turns and then nods. “Okay, okay. I got it. _Si. Bueno_.” He looks at her. “Mami.” Duarte says. “We gotta go.”

“Are you crazy? I can’t just leave.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone.” He hisses. “You don’t even have a gun.”

“No need for it.” She says. “You tell Blip, I’m staying.” She declares. Duarte repeats it to Sanders. “ _Si, Si_ – okay.” He hangs up and gives her a pointed glare.

“He says if you’re staying then you need to get wired, Mami!” He whispers. “Van’s rolling outside the kitchen backdoor. Come quick. I’ll go first.”

She nods, takes the phone from him and pushes it into her bra-cup instinctively.

“Everything all right?” A voice floats over her head.

_Shit._

She jumps up and _he_ ’s there, leaning against the bar, giving her small knowing smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” She plasters a grin. “Everything’s just fine.”

She sorts her cleavage out, the large flowy ruffles over the deep v-neckline hide the abrupt shape of the phone. Lawson frowns at her actions.

He places a glass before her. “Bourbon, please.”

She reaches for the whiskey in the cabinet underneath, looks at her partner. Duarte glares at her and then starts crawling out. She winces at Lawson, pouring about half a glass of the Bourbon. He raises his eyebrows at the volume.

“I’m not a drunk...yet.” He remarks wryly.

“Live a little.” She answers swiftly.

“How are you?” He asks.

“Good. Good. You?”

He gives her a disbelieving look. “Almost didn’t recognize you with all that stuff on your face.” He says, pointing to her face.

“Yeah – I gotta work – can’t do that looking with an abstract painting for a face.” She loads up a whole bunch of flutes with champagne.

He nods at her, not looking as amused as she expects. “So,” He leans forward and whispers. “We won the other day.”

She frowns at him.

“I told you – ballplayers, we’re superstitious.” He says, feigning an innocent matter-of-fact look. “Now you have to kiss me before every game.”

“Oh.” She says, unable to contain the heat rising on her cheeks. “Margie…” She says, hissing between her teeth. “Doesn’t really care about baseball.”  She arranges the champagne on the tray, gives him a furtive smile.

He rolls his tongue behind his teeth and then widens his lips in a grin.

“The other one? Gi -” He coughs when she glares at him. “’m sorry, not-Margie. I hear she was a local legend in her hometown. A pretty decent pitcher.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“I’m flirting with not-Margie.”

“Yeah – let’s not talk about her now.” She whispers, aware of Duarte moving across her legs. For a guy so big, he moves with almost a feline agility.

Lawson won’t let it rest, it seems.  “Why did not-Margie give up the game?”

“Sexism.” She answers.

“Sexism?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t make for team spirit.” She gives him a baby smile.

“Sounds like a load of crap.”

“Because you’d be the first person to welcome a female pitcher in your band of men.” She winces at him, mocking him.

He glares at her for a few seconds watching her face, then straightens his expression. “Okay. you got me there.” He takes a big gulp of his drink. “So, what does that guy want?” He asks.

“Huh?” She says, wondering if he’s talking about Sequeira who she’s constantly glancing at. “Who?” She says, coming around to his side. Lawson follows her movements with his eyes, waits for her to come by his side, then he leans over the breadth of bar and points a finger at a crouched Duarte, skulking at the open end, trying to make a run for the corridor.

Duarte snaps his head up, glares at Lawson and her. Lawson scowls back.

“Oh. Him. Nothing.” She says, crossing her eyebrows at Duarte in reprimand for not bolting earlier and mouthing a ‘what the fuck’ at him. Duarte points to the camera above that’s panning and then flips her off.

“Uh…” She frowns. “He’s an old friend.”

“Huh.” He tips his head, watching the exchange silently.

“Yeah – we uh – were in college, together…” She says. “Um – before I quit.” She says, wetting her lips.

“Seems like there’s bad blood.” Lawson sips his drink.

“Nothing, just – a healthy rivalry.” She says, scanning the room for her targets.

“Huh. You’re choosing your words carefully.” Lawson states, leaning against the edge of the bar. He nods in the direction of the passageway behind the bar without really looking there. Ginny turns and exhales with relief seeing that Livan's made it across. He’s glowering fiercely at her and shaking his head. When he realizes that Lawson’s got eyes on him, he slinks away.

She looks at Lawson, sighs and rubs her ear – the only part of her face that isn’t pricking with pain.  “I am choosing my words carefully.” She says. “Every choice I make – I have to think about.”

He nods quietly.

“The wife came around, ah?” She says, finding a subject to divert his attention with. “Good for you, Old Man.”

“No.” He says, bluntly.

“Oh – I just thought -” She looks in the direction of Rachel Patrick.

“Violet invited her.” He says, curtly. “Her – _the guy_ couldn’t make it. My publicist – Amelia? The blonde woman there - ” He points in the direction of the woman who created the wine controversy. “She wants us to put up an amicable front. Says it’ll be easier for my image.”

“Why?” She asks, absentmindedly. “Nothing’s wrong with your image.”

Violet catches her attention...the woman is throwing a pointed glance in Marzano’s direction.  

“I’m a thirty-six-year-old catcher with sixty-five-year-old knees.” Lawson speaks. “I didn’t sign a pre-nup, and she gets half of everything. Gotta start thinking about life after baseball. I’m thinking of broadcasting but – if there’s any public bitterness with my ex, an established anchor on the same network that wants to hire me…it makes me volatile. Unreliable.” He sighs.

Sequeira returns the nod at Violet. Marzano’s acting all shifty.

“By all means, express your sympathies.” Lawson’s voice in her peripheral hearing catches on. She doesn’t miss the bite in his voice. “I mean, I’m only just pouring my heart out to you.” He barbs.

Her mind is preoccupied with her next move. There’s no time to the van to get the wires. She needs to find an excuse to get close to the them without being too obvious.

“Sorry, Old Man…” She mumbles, keeping her gaze fixed on the trio. “I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

Sequeira is heading off with Violet and Marzano in the direction of a large French door. She tries to recall the layout that she memorized when she’d scouted the place first – she’s positive that it opens up to a large patio that leads to a miniature golf course.

“Hey, you play golf?” She asks, hoping that he does. It gives her an excuse to go there.

“Do I look like I play golf?” He makes a grumpy face – that’s so adorable it completely waylays her.

“You look like a cousin from duck dynasty.” She retorts, unable to contain a smile.

He bares his teeth nodding his head at her and then tips his chin up at her. “You love the beard.”

“I do not.” She sputters with laughter.

“That’s ‘cause you have a different image of me.” He starts to guffaw. “Probably from all those posters you had up on your bedroom wall.”

“Oh!” She shakes her head, blushing. “I did not have posters of you on my _bedroom_ wall. It was – just a wall.”

He doubles over in laughter and elbows her. “Aww – okay.”

She elbows him back without thinking, giggling freely.

“Hi.” A perky female voice interrupts them.

Lawson’s straightens up, trying to curb his giggles and nods that the blonde. “Amelia, hi!”

Only a fool wouldn’t notice that Amelia’s attention is singularly focused on her.

“Hi.” She says, with a clipped, poised tone and extends an arm to her. “I’m Amelia Slater. Mike’s publicist. And you are?”

_I’m Ginny._

"A little dramatic don't you think." Lawson answers. "Especially seeing as how you already know her name."

_Margie. Margie._

“I’m sure she can speak for herself.” Amelia remarks snidely.

“I’m uh…”

_Margie. Margie._

“I’m…working.” She says, picks up the heavy tray of champagne flutes.  

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Amelia remarks, blocking her way with a smooth slide that’s so subtle, she almost wouldn’t guess it was intentional. She finds it amazing that Amelia has a big, seemingly, amiable smile on her face but somehow it makes her blood run cold.

“I should – get back to it.” She – Margie - says with a fake smile and then steps around Amelia.

The guests pick up the flutes as she passes through the room, easing the weight of the tray. She reaches the large arched doors, finding a moment of relief when she finds the three of them haven’t gone far. They’re having an animated discussion right there in an isolated but dimly lit patio that leads to the mini-golf course. She slips out of the door under the shadows thrown by the pillars. Her heart beats at a terrifying pace – so furiously that she’s afraid it’s thumping will be audible to her targets.

She pulls out her phone instantly, turns on the recording device. It’s a surveillance-special phone with an enhanced mic – especially for situations like this. She moves as close as possible, keeping her footsteps light, muffling the sound of the heels on the concrete. She hopes to all the gods, of baseball and policework alike, they do not find her spying on them.

She closes her eyes, tries to calm herself. She centres her mind on the baseball mound – the only place that’s ever felt right. She imagines scratching the dust with her cleats, powders her hand and poses. She’s ready to pitch. A sense of calm spreads through her.

Ginny, the ballplayer - takes over.

She checks the tray and finds three flutes left. She keeps it steady with the same precision and dexterity with which she grips her fingers around a baseball, knowing that tray is the only excuse she has, in case they discover her.

 _Okay. Stay calm._ She talks to herself. _Sanders rule - half-hour of radio silence before attempting rescue. Duarte and Blip won’t call now. The risk here is if Violet’s minions – if they come searching._

She checks the doors opening into the patio. None of Violet’s personal bodyguards are standing at the doors – despite them having a conversation in a relatively exposed area. She checks the garden on the east of the golf-course. She scans the mini golf-course itself.

Violet’s guards aren’t anywhere to be seen. They are supposed to clock patrol every fifteen minutes. She can’t even hear the dogs. Gleason must demanded isolation for this conversation. Knowing what she does about Violet, Ginny knows that the woman doesn’t trust anyone. Not even her own son. It means the conversation is _that_ secret. _That_ important. 

It’s an intense discussion, veering towards an argument – in Spanish. Ginny’s surprised that both Violet and Marzano are so fluent in it – right down to the accent. She catches some words but overall there’s no point of her trying to decipher what they’re saying. She moves closer and hopes that the phone mic will pick it up and they can translate it later. She stays perfectly still behind by a large pillar that is so dangerously close, she doesn’t even peek because it would risk detection.

It lasts for about twenty minutes. She looks around the pillar only when she hears thwacking noises, finds that Violet and Sequeira are shoving each other, almost close to a brawl.

Marzano intervenes. “People will hear you!” He hisses in English.

It seems to knock sense into both of them. They straighten their appearance, nod at each other. She pulls back just in time as they scan their peripheries and then head back in side.

She flattens her back against the pillar and exhales a breath she’s held for inhumanly long. Her heartbeat rebounds at a rapid pace, her body breaks out into sweat.

 _Oh my god! We did it!_ Margie cries from within.

 _We ain’t done nothing yet._ Ginny replies.

She doesn’t allow herself to think how lucky she is for fear she’ll jinx it – she’s superstitious, like that. She stuffs the phone back into her bosom, checks her perimeter. She waits a few minutes before creeping back in. A moment later than that, and the guards would have caught her. She sees them slowly filing to the doors that open into the patio, taking their positions.

She sets the tray down on a side table, grabs a flute and downs a glass of champagne. Ignores the funny looks from the guests who are nearby. A woozy feeling hits her head that she shakes off.

She spies on Marzano conversing with the deputy Mayor. She scans around and finds Violet and Sequeira are huddled by the banister. Pascal – is with them.

She pushes away from the wall, her tray forgotten as she walks towards them.

“Hey.”

She turns around, finds Amelia standing there. “I never got your full name.” Amelia says. “It seems you and my client are friendly.” Amelia adds, when Ginny doesn’t speak, “I think that means we should be friends, you and I.”

_Officer Ginny Baker, Badge number 4336, SDPD Vice Division and I don’t wanna be your fucking friend, lady._

Ginny’s eyes focus at a point beyond her perfectly coiffed, poker straight blonde head. Mike Lawson leaves the side of his beautiful soon to be ex-wife, walks towards them shaking his head, casting disapproving glances at Amelia.

“Mr. Lawson.” Ginny says, before Lawson puts a leash on Amelia. “Can I get a selfie with you?” She pulls her phone out and turns on the camera.

His gaze lingers a little more than it should on her cleavage. A sheepish smile spreads across his face when he realizes he’s been caught in the act.

“Sure.”

He comes to her side and embraces her waist, as she holds the phone up, wrapping her arm around his shoulder.

“I’ll be happy to take it.” Amelia offers, in her slinky voice.

“No, I’m good.” Ginny gives her a cold smile and looks into Mike’s face. “I take the best selfies.”

He’s frowning at the camera. She almost laughs out at how cute he is when those cantankerous lines appear on his forehead.

“Say cheese, Mr. Lawson.” She says, grins wide and hits the button.

“Is that the right camera…?” He murmurs, between his clenched teeth as Amelia steps back, looking very unhappy at being shut down. She reckons Amelia isn’t used to backtalk from people like her.

Lawson’s eyes go wide, but his shock long enough for her to capture it. She slips the phone in his pocket when some of Violet's guards spot her. 

“What are you…” He sputters.

“Staff are not supposed to have phones on them. We’ll get frisked on the way out.” She whispers. “But, for guests like you, on the other hand - it's not a problem.” She trails off. 

He looks alarmed – and confused. He takes the phone out of the side pocket - she tenses, half expecting him to freak out and refuse - but he transfers it into a secret pocket inside the lapel of his jacket.

She almost whistles with relief.

“That has to be the worst selfie ever, by the way.” He says with a shake of his head.

She agrees. A high-resolution video of Sequeira smooching Violet, and Pascal in the frame looking on with disgust, all faces clear and visible - definitely the worst selfie of her and Mike Lawson.

She grins at him, pleased beyond words. “You have a game against the _Dodgers_ tomorrow.” Ginny whispers to him, giving him a wink. “It would be such a shame if you lost because I didn’t come by later to pick up the phone...and maybe....give you that lucky kiss.”

He checks her out unabashedly and nods with a sexy little smirk. “Fine by me.” He says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating changes to E next chapter...  
> 


	3. Restitution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm updating this fic quickly because it's already written out and because you've been so great and vocal with your appreciation and i love feedback and...  
> definitely need a feedback on this one.

“You plannin' to stay over?” Duarte asks her.

She shoots him a small frown. He retorts with a cheeky flash of dimples before he turns his attention to the road.

“You got something’ you wanna say to me, Papi?” She asks.

“As a friend – yes. As a partner – also yes.”

She owes him, she reckons. He covered for her with Blip – again, took her to his place so she could take a proper shower and clean up, after; even bought her dinner.

“Okay –  Free passes on both.” She says.

“So – as a friend – what I think, is you haven’t had a boyfriend in the last two years.”

She never had a steady boyfriend before that either, but, she isn’t about to give that up. Her sexual experience prior to enlisting with the SDPD was sparse as it is; Pop’s rigorous training schedule didn’t leave much time for dating. After his death, she was so caught up in grief, her college dating history was restricted to the occasional hook up and dates that never lasted more than a few weeks.

“And –“ He says, hesitantly. “You’re what? Almost twenty four? I don’t think you’ve had much sex in the past year.” He glances at her. “It’s not you – it’s this job.” He adds, quickly. “You’ve always been on the job. It doesn’t leave scope for a personal life.”

She doesn’t look at him; doesn’t feel the need to inform him that she hasn’t had much sex in the past three years, and it’s not just because she’s always been on the job.

“I’ve seen it happen to a lot of friends who've gone undercover as perps. Women – and men. You're constantly dealing with these double crossers, these lowlifes – these criminals. Many of them look and act like good people. They have a proper life, jobs, families – husbands, wives, partners – children. No one would suspect the darkness that lurks underneath. It creates distrust, it creates…intimacy issues.”

“So - what? You’re a shrink now?” She teases weakly. But, what he says is true in her case.

The few times she tried to date between ops – her attractions were clouded by paranoia. Every second she spent with a guy, she would be wondering what he was hiding, what secrets he kept. Every spare minute away from them was busied with running background checks. Acting seductive at work messed with her head. Her kisses were guarded, her attempts at foreplay feeble. All the lines were blurred. Nothing stuck.

“And there’s him –Lawson.“ Livan says. “Let’s forget that he’s a charming man desired by many women, surrounded by groupies all the time.”

“Kinda like you?”

“Very much like me. At least I’m younger.” He winks at her in the rear-view mirror. “But let’s forget that he's famous.”  Livan says, his tone getting serious. “I was watching him at the party – before he came over to the bar. The way he was looking at his wife –“ Livan pauses and then sighs. “That’s a man with a broken heart. That’s a lonely man. He’ll reach for the closest thing that gives him consolation. Problem is - consolation will never be enough –  he’ll get tired and bored, move on to someone else, constantly find placeholders until he’s ready to run back to her.”

“So that’s what you’re worried about?” She says. “That – it – that _I_ \- will be a rebound.”

“Or worse.” Livan purses his lower lip.

“What’s worse?”

“He may be with you, but his heart and his mind will be somewhere else.” He glances at her and smiles sadly.  “You deserve to be with someone who has you on his mind, Mami.”  He emphasizes. “Only you.”

She pinches her bottom lip, pondering his words for a bit, and then looks at him. “And what does my partner say?” She sighs.

“You’re partner’s stance is simple.” Livan shrugs. “Don’t get involved with a potential material witness.

 

He pulls up in front of Lawson’s house, slowing down at the gate. She rolls the window down intending to stab the buzzer, but the gate opens before she touches it.

“Looks like he’s waiting on Margie.” Livan comments. “I’ll stay in the car.”

Livan’s implication of ‘Margie’ isn’t lost on her, she doesn’t call him out on it. 

 

Lawson is waiting for her at the porch on the top of the stairs that lead to his patio.

The instant his eyes connect with her face, they widen with an appreciative expression shadowing in them.  She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door behind him, realizes how different she looks to what he’s used to seeing.

How Ginny she looks.

She’s wearing her - Ginny’s - favourite white hooded jacket over a modest-t-shirt, skinny jeans and sneakers. Her damp hair in curls, rebounding into its natural springy texture; her face, devoid of any makeup. 

His forehead wrinkles momentarily, his eyes flit over the still-healing shiners colouring her mug. Soon, an easy grin spreads across his face. It makes the corners of his eyes go all crinkly, makes his cheeks look ruddy and fat - makes her want to kiss him.

“Please tell me you’re not a contract killer type hitman – hitwoman thingy.” He half-begs, half-jokes. “’Cause what happened this evening was bizarre. I felt like I was in some spy movie.”

She bursts into a laugh, covering her mouth to impede it’s loudness. His face relaxes a little, he looks at her with some degree of affection.

“Do you have my phone, Old Man?” She asks, still tittering.

He reaches inside his pocket and hands her the phone, glances over her shoulder at the car waiting in the driveway.

Her giggles subside when the door unlocks unexpectedly and Livan exits. He comes to the bottom step, bracing his hips, tucking his jacket away to show off the gun in its holster at his waist. His body language and expressionless face screams a warning which in Ginny’s opinion is unnecessary.

Lawson’s grin warps into a frown. “Your – uh – _amigo_ planning to join us for a nightcap?” He asks, his eyes flitting to hers. He’s not intimidated, she deduces; he’s just - ticked off.

She tosses the phone, it sails straight into her partner’s deft grasp. Livan slips it into his pocket, pleads with her silently to reconsider what she’s about to do.

She would reassure him – except she isn’t quite sure what she’s about to do, yet.

A resigned expression overcomes Duarte’s face. For such a cocky guy who seldom expresses worry or nervousness, she thinks it’s touching that he would not hide his concern for her.

He flashes her a hand signal: a _‘you come to me if there’s any trouble’._  He narrows his eyes at Lawson, once, before he gets into the car.

“So, who is he?” Lawson asks, watching the car reverse out the driveway.

“My boyfriend.”

“Huh.” He snorts, like he was suspecting it. When he looks at her amused expression, he sighs. “Oh, you’re kidding.”

She grins at him. “I am.”

He makes a dismissive “ _Pffth_!” and motions for her to come in.

“So – I gotta admit – I tried to google Ginny Baker.” He says, leading her through the foyer into his snazzy living room. “Interestingly there’s zero information on you. I could have sworn Oscar mentioned there were videos of you online. I was positive of finding something on _youtube_.”

Her identity as Ginny Baker was classified information for now. From social media to DMV records. All the cyber memories of her glory days was scrubbed off the internet years ago, before her first op.

She chews on the inside of her mouth wondering how he’s so calm about such a skeevy situation. The muscles of her face complain at execution of all her nervous ticks, but on the plus side, at least her lip doesn’t hurt the same anymore.

“I’m Margie now.” She says.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Look Margie – Ginny, whatever your name is. If you’re in any trouble, it’s not that I don’t wanna help…I do.” His forehead furrows appear. “I just don’t want to get dragged into it. I’ve got everything to lose and no safety net to speak off.”

“Good.” She says, shrugging off her jacket and dropping it on the oversized armchair. “I don’t wanna drag you into it, either.”

“I always thought you – had no one.” He says, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you have a uh – _friend_ – if he _is_ that, but it seems like you’re involved with something shady.”

“I am involved in something shady.” She agrees.

He lets out a long, protracted sigh and drops into the luxurious couch that's wide and long enough for to be a bed for at least three people. 

She regards him quietly, mulling over Livan’s words. She considers telling him the truth, giving him a ‘thank you for your service to the city of San Diego’. She considers just taking off without saying anything.

“I’m not a poster here.” Lawson says, lines crease his forehead when he looks at her expectantly. “I gave my life to this game.” He says, when she doesn’t respond. “I wasn’t born with magical baseball powers. I've always been good at it, but I worked for it too. Now, I don’t really know how many years I’ve got left to play. I’m gonna be a thirty-something retiree soon. And, all I have to show for it is a bunch of twenty-something mooks who can’t get their shit together long enough to make it to post-season.”

She doesn’t say anything.

He laughs with self-derision. “The _love_ of my _life_ –“ He stabs his palm into space. “- doesn’t love me anymore. So,” he snorts, “so much for family.”

He looks up at her, the space between his eyebrows crumpling. “I’m a person, here. A man. Failures, fiascos, fuck-ups and all –“

_Flawed, imperfect..._

“- And…” He sighs, rubbing his eyebrows and his beard. “…I don’t really wanna go to jail – if something like that is going on.”

He looks up at her.

_...Shattered, broken..._

“I try to do the right thing.” He says. “Even if I suck at it. And I wanna do right by you except - I don’t know who you are. Ginny Baker? Margie? Both of them? Neither of them?”

_...but you feel like home to me. And I cannot explain why._

“Do you –“  She starts and clears her throat. “Would you prefer it if ‘Margie’ is who I was? For real?” 

When he doesn’t reply she continues. “Born a ‘Margie’. Poor, helpless, rough childhood, unstable life, got into the wrong company – ended up on the wrong side of the tracks, stint in juvie, made it to college but ran out of cash. Got desperate for money? All she has is her looks. Ends up the oldest cliché ever. Starts hooking. Gets trapped in a web of drugs, sex and despair. This poor girl, so badly in need of saving.” When he just stares, she adds. “And Mike Lawson – he comes along on his white horse, ready to rescue.”

“Stop that!” He bellows, livid and incredulous. “That’s – that’s not what I mean, that’s not what – I’m trying to be!”

“Or would you prefer Ginny Baker.” She moves towards him, speaking softly – in a firm, calming tone. “An average girl from an average family. A little girl with a big dream. Picked up a baseball because it looked like fun. Turns out she was pretty damned good at baseball. And she _loved_ the game with every fibre of her being. She wanted to go all he way, play in the major leagues, even though everyone said it was impossible for a girl to make it.”

His angry expression wilts. She stands in front of him, her knees touching his. 

“She had Mike Lawson’s poster on her wall,” She continues. “Not just because he was cool and handsome and famous – but because he was disciplined, focussed, hardworking. A phenomenal player. Her idol. He represented everything she aspired to be. And he _loved_ the game with every fibre of _his_ being – just like her.”

He’s rapt, his eyes are glassy – like he’s spellbound

“Who knew if she might have achieved the impossible?” She asks, wistfully. “Broken barriers? Been the first? Done the unthinkable? Broken the glass ceiling for women ballplayers, that same ceiling that served as the floor walked upon by men?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“She didn’t know any other life except that a mound of dirt. Everything made sense there out on a ballplark field. It came at a great cost. No dresses, no long hair, no boyfriends, a terrible rift from the rest of her family.”

He hooks his fingers into the beltloops of her jeans and tugs. She willingly drops forward, her palms reaching for his shoulders.

“A robot in cleats.” She adds softly, slowly. “No skills, no friends, no life except baseball.” She straddles his lap and cushions her ass on his thighs.

He holds her gaze in that magnetic way he does, and she remains, captivated by his eyes. They appear more blue than hazel now. His large hands curl around her waist. His thumb inches up her t-shirt and rubs the skin beneath.

Her breath hitches. 

“And then, one day,” She whispers, “the robot malfunctions. Acts out – runs away, been running ever since. No matter what name she takes, which place she goes – what job she does, she’s still running.”   

She leans her forehead on his, rubs her nose against his. He closes his eyes, she does the same.

“Which one do you prefer, Mike?” She asks. She hears his dry swallow. She feels his beard graze her chin.

They stay like that, peaceful and unmoving for the longest time until he tilts his chin up and runs his tongue over her upper lip.

It’s the craziest, most intense swell of heat she feels. Her eyes flutter open and she finds him staring up at her face with unmasked longing and want. She cups his cheeks, scrapes finger pads through his beard and crushes her mouth on his.

His mouth is warm and inviting, his body is hard and firm and it makes her want to rub against it, forever. She slides deeper into his lap, whimpering. He wraps his large, strong arms around her, pulls her closer, skates his hands up and down her back, laces his fingers into her hair and tilts her face into his.  

Baseball clearly isn’t the only thing Mike Lawson’s good at it would appear. He kisses with about as much talent as he drives an incoming ball out of the field.

She follows his lead, slants her head across his, outlines his lips with her tongue, licks his tongue when he offers it. He likes it too – god knows, she can feel it under her thighs. His sweatpants don’t do much to hide his excitement. He makes a muffled noise of pleasure under her mouth – somewhere between a grunt and moan. It makes her want to take off all her clothes at once, but she’s going to – _not_ do that – for now.

A dark voice from the doubting recess of her mind suggests caution, hints that the fire he’s stoking inside her is just the product of sexual frustration and desire for intimacy on both their parts. That she shouldn’t read too much into liking it, she shouldn’t confuse it for something more than it is. That Duarte’s probably right about him, about the wife, about his need to fuck Rachel out of his system, about his projecting his heartbreak on her.  

Ginny bears down on the hardness swelling against the fork of his sweats pushing against the fork of her jeans. She breaks off with a loud, pleasured moan, rolling her hips in circles – because, well – she _has_ to breathe at some point. 

“Or is it Rachel you prefer?” She pants, trapping her bottom lip under her teeth, ignoring the pain of at that cut lip, grinding over his arousal. He grunts softly, juts upwards, seeking the friction with as much desperation.

“Rachel whom you love…” She adds.

There’s neither surprise, nor confusion – nor annoyance at her poorly veiled taunt.

He’s staring up at her face, breathing hard, with jacked pupils and hands sliding up. He yanks off her t-shirt, forcefully luggin her arms up above her head. She winces when that pain stabs at her side, but it’s pretty much eighty-sixed by the hot, absurd sensation fanning out through her when he stares at her chest. A functional expanse of lycra-mixed sportswear stretched across her average sized bosom makes a very unflattering view in her opinion – and if one thinks about it, he’s seen her in less - but it seems to work for him. He licks a trail from the top of her cleavage up to the hollow of her neck, it sends a shiver down her spine, makes her suck air like she’s drowning.

He skates his fingers gently over the sensitive bruised parts of her face and neck. It occurs to her that he’s been considerate of not touching those achy spots. That he’s kept a firm grip over her back, but his touch over her battered belly is light and gentle. It's as though he had her injuries committed to memory, thinking of them even when he was so undoubtedly aroused. At last, he runs his thumb over the almost-painless scab on her lip.

“I’m not think of Rachel right now,” He murmurs between long, strangled breaths. His eyes are focused on hers – with a singular attentiveness that leaves no room for doubt who he is thinking of.

Rachel, Ginny decides with a smile, is a fucking idiot.

 

He lifts his body off the couch, taking her with him and flips them. She lands with a laugh on the cushions. He stays kneeling, stripping out of his t-shirt, divests his pants, shelves his boxers. She scoots to rest her head against an armrest, kicks off her sneakers and socks. She’s busy twisting to get her jeans off when she catches a sight of him – naked.

Her jaw sags and her hand seizes over the upended denim trapped over her knees, her eyes, ready to jump out of their sockets.

He’s a glorious sight. His engorged dick is exactly like the rest of him - muscular, thick, long. It looks powerful enough to tear her apart.

Her throat goes dry and it – _well_ – it scares her a little too. In her defence, it has been a while so -

“Be gentle, okay?” She blurts.

He frowns as her as if she’s saying the most absurd thing.

She licks her lips, averts her eyes and writhes to get her jeans down her legs. A thrill of apprehension passes through her. She feels foolish for having said that, she foolish for deciding to sleep with him. She can’t help but question if this isn’t the stupidest decision she’s made all night.  

He touches her thigh with the same gentleness she sees in his eyes when she looks up at him. She twists her mouth nervously again. He brushes a light kiss on her mouth – more beard than lips.

“I won’t hurt you, Ginny.” He says softly, kissing his way down her neck. He delicately ghosts his fuzzy chin over her neck, over the angry finger-shaped marks imprinted by that fucker who tried to rough her up.  “It is Ginny…” He mumbles against her skin. “Isn’t it?”

_Not Margie._

“Yes.” She whispers, with a smile.

She arches her neck hoping he’ll take the hint and sure enough, he clamps his mouth in the hollow between collarbone and shoulder. He licks at it, gently nips it after. It evokes a familiar, pleasing sensation that she likes and she hums out her appreciation.

She _likes_ the way he strokes her thigh, the way the pressure of his mouth increases as he works his way to the swell of her breasts. His hand fumbles and prods at the thick strap over the back, she reckons he’s searching for the non-existent clasp. She reaches for the bra thinking to help him but her side throbs again and it makes her wince.

“I got it.” He mumbles, insinuating his fingers under the elastic support. She sighs with resignation and throws her arms up, lets him take care of it. She loops her arms around his shoulders when he ducks down to kiss her breasts, bites her lower lip when his hot, wet, mouth closes over a nipple. That forgotten wound retaliates with pain, but she doesn’t care. Her body's alive with something more powerful than pain. He licks and licks the tip, and then makes a muffled greedy sound, takes the tender flesh into his mouth and suckles gently. Ginny whines with delight, she wets her mouth and clenches her thighs when the wetness doubles between her legs. 

She looks down at the crown of his head, moving over her bosom, plays the short hair at base of his skull, urging him to continue. He plants brief, impatient kisses over her breasts. His beard evokes fuzzy, electric sensations that make her want to giggle and sigh at the same time. “You’re so beautiful.” He breathes over her skin. 

She hesitantly reaches between them, sliding her palm over his chest. His chest hair is downier than on his arms. His skin is smooth and muscles are firm, like silk over a hard surface. He catches her hand as she reaches lower, directs it to himself. Her fingers curl automatically over his warm, thick, velvety length.

Her gasp is involuntary. She strokes him, lets him jack off against her open palm. He makes is way down to her belly, groans vibrating out of his mouth through her skin and suffusing her body with more heat. She feels it’s slick aftereffects in her panties. 

“I like how you do that.” He says, thickly.

She lets his gruff voice wash over her. It makes her want to do it all the more. So she does and his manhood is just as amazing to touch as it is to see.

“You okay?” He asks her, at some point.

She nods, a little confused as to when her lace panties came off. It was the only delicate piece of lingerie she owned as Ginny. She accidentally took it with her on the op. It had fallen into the change of clothes she’d packed in a hurry. She discovered them, while rummaging through the duffel for her shampoo. She smiled to herself when she slipped them on after the shower. She was thinking of Mike when she rolled them over her hips.

She wonders why she’s thinking about them now, though…seeing as they’re lying on the floor.

“Look, I gotta admit.” He says, brushing his mouth over the dipped area around her navel, glancing up at her face between kisses. “I haven’t been really been with anyone else – since – since…”

“Since Rachel.” She prompts.

“And…we – stopped doing it for almost a year….” He makes a queer noise.  “Yeah, so.” He says. “I may be a little out of practice.”

She’s surprised he would admit it to her. Funny thing is, he doesn’t look insecure. She’s almost about to disclose her sexual inexperience and then it hits her that he perceives her as Margie on some level. She can’t tell him the truth just yet. She’s already reached the limit on how many laws she’s broken for him. 

If her perturbation shows, he’s unconcerned with it. He seems more preoccupied with wedging her thighs apart. He even gives her an annoyed frown when she resists. She squeezes her thighs all the more, her cheeks heating up with awareness of the thick dampness pooling between her folds.

“Ginny.” He chides softly, and then brushes his knuckles over the mound of her sex. Her traitorous thighs butterfly out obediently, embarrassing her.

A smug grin spreads across his face.

So much for him being out of practice.

“Fuck you.” She retorts and then gasps loudly when he slips his hand between her thighs, rubbing against her clit.

“That, later.” He winks.

He reaches for a pillow and shoves it in the space between her body and the armrest. He leans her on it and then tags kisses on the way down her half-reclined torso, pushing her legs apart.

“But this…” He announces. “You’ll _like_ this.” He adds with a hint of pride when his face is between her thighs, “ _This_ \- I’m really good at.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Mmm no?” He shows her his fingers, slathered with her juices, studies her face when he makes a big show of licking them. Her mouth jerks open, her breathing snags and her armpits feel sweaty.

“’Think I’m half way there already.” He quips.

“No…” She cuts in, makes a downturned grimace, gesturing at her chin. “’cause of that thing…”

“Oh the beard…” He scoffs. “Oh – no, you’ll _love_ the beard.”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“Never the beard.”

“Not even a little?” He gives her a crooked smirk and then disappears between her legs. “Fuck!” She gasps when his mouth covers her. “Oh my – fuck!”  Ginny groans and arches off the couch. Her thighs clap over his ears and she gulps once, twice – squirms and twists against that –

“Fuck!” She hisses.

She cries at first, and then whines when his hairy jaw rubs her, _after_ his tongue.  He hums then – like, right there - against her sensitized flesh, sending ebbs of electricity waves through her. “Told you so, Baker.” His muffled reprimand reaches her buzzing ears.

Ginny snaps her hands back, gripping the armrest – the pain in her side paling compared to the hot, numbing, shudders of intense pleasure that zip through her being. Her hips take a life of their own, rolling upwards to meet the attentions of his mouth – _oh fuck_ …that beard grating against her – she feels the shocks everywhere - right down to her teeth.

“M-Mike!” She flattens her feet on his shoulders, her toes curling for purchase. “Shit! I’m gonna…”

He levers his heavy hand over her belly when she lurches upwards, the euphoric release rippling through her, she bites back the scream erupting at the back of her throat, manages to curb it to a moan.  She savours that throbbing wetness pulsing out of her. She imagined she’d be more creeped out at the idea of him licking it – licking _her,_ but _..._

“Told you, you’d love the beard.” His voice floats. She doesn’t have a comeback. She opens her heavy eyelids, sees the crown of his head still moving.  

She thought he was done, is about to ask him the same...

But no, he’s not done.

_Holy Fuck!_

A finger hooks inside her and _that -_ she jolts forwards, spine upright, hand fisting through his hair. She shoves her lower body right at him. He winds an arm around her ass, grips it tight and makes her fuck his face and fingers at the same time.

Her mouth goes dry, her vision swims, that burgeoning scream finally claws its way out of her throat.

Her hand passively rises with his head when his face emerges - his beard sodden with her cum.

“Fuck!” He gasps. “You come real easy, don’t you?”

Does she? She didn’t know that.

She looks at him through her bleary eyes, incredulous, wheezing, barely able to smile let alone talk. He’s panting about as heavily as her, smiling wide like he’s – he’s _accomplished_ something phenomenal.

She didn’t ever think that he was the type to enjoy doing that.

“I uh – “ He says, hurriedly. “I should..." He sound frantic. "– I’ll go get the condoms, okay?”

She falls back against the couch, deliriously happy, sighing, giggling, and moaning at the same time.

Apparently not just baseball and kissing, then. _This_ too.

 

She dozes off into a dreamless haze. Her eyes snap open, and she isn’t sure what brings it on.

She rubs her eyes and looks around, she’s still on the couch and he's standing there, looking down at her, playing with the foil between his fingers.

He’s a little flushed, looks restless, nervous. His large dick is upright, cradled in the other hand. He’s squeezing it gently – not really jerking off as much he’s trying to ease the tension in it.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He says, looking apologetic. She rises to her side, observing his large hand handling his large member. He looks down at himself and then shakes his head. “And, I’m not being freak or anything. It’s just – ”

“Come here.” She says, through a parched throat, her voice sounding huskier than usual. He comes forward and lets her wrap her hand around him. She kneels on the cushions.

“If you’re tired I can just…” He starts to speak.

She presses her mouth over his chest, silencing him, caressing his warm manhood at the same time. He doesn’t touch her, but the foil crackles louder. She nips the alabaster skin over his pecs till it goes pink with her teeth marks. She kisses over his flat nipple, grazes her teeth until it pebbles. She keeps stroking his dick while pressing tentative kisses down his body, over a six pack that she feels more than sees. She bites gently under his navel, his body jerks forward and his erect dick hits her chest. 

She sinks down on her haunches, and runs her tongue along the length of his erection. A shiver passes through his body that she feels thrumming at her tongue just as she reaches the swollen head. She grabs it at the base, rests the back of her fist against the patch of coarse sandy brown curls. His erection feels about as heavy and thick as it looks.

“I gotta be honest, now.” She says, looking up at him. “I’m not going to be very good at this.”

He looks down at her and then shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”

She wants to, that’s the thing.

“You look tired.” He says, when she doesn’t say anything. “Do you just wanna sleep?”

She is exhausted, to be honest. Weeks of sleepless nights – looking over her shoulder, maintaining her precarious cover identity, being treated like dirt, being an object of lustful eyes, getting beat up – not knowing what or when the endgame was; guarded, isolated, soulless, nameless...it’s exhausting.

She doesn’t feel it now, though. “Not really.” She says, stroking his dick slowly. She scoots to the edge of the couch, closer to him and hopes her mouth is open wide enough. He growls when she sucks him in. She closes her eyes and pulls back – the salty-bitter taste tingling against her tongue.

“H-here.” He lets out a gravely breath, keeps the condom packet trapped between two fingers, presses his free thumb at the corner of her mouth. “Keep your jaw loose.” He says, gently bunching her hair over the crown.

She nods and tries again, keeping a check on her teeth.

“Wait – hold on to this.” He grabs her free wrist and plants it on his ass, her hand curl over the muscle instinctively.

She moans as she slides her mouth down his length again. His ass feels hard and pert against her palm. His glute trembles and clenches – like he’s pulling back deliberately. She pulls her mouth off with a pop.

“Is that…okay?” She asks, feeling nervous, feeling stupid for being nervous.

He smiles down at her with affection. He lets her hair loose and gently smooths it out before fisting it again. “It’s more than okay." He encourages. "Breathe through your nose, it’ll be easier.”

She nods and then takes him in again, fucking him with her mouth, breathing through her nose.

It’s more than okay for her, too. She didn’t ever think she’d like it so much. She likes the way he feels on her tongue, so heavy and alive. She moans, feeling his responsive thrusts in her mouth. The head hitting right up against the softer part of her palate. The manner in which his ass tightens under her palm - the considerate way he’s holding back. She moans, rubs the flat of her tongue along the ridge down his middle. His dick shudders and leaks into her mouth.

“Okay – okay!” He tugs her by the hair and pulls her off hastily.

She winces immediately, gagging a little as she swallows his taste. She moistens her lips, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry?” She offers, thinking maybe she doesn't match up to what he expects.

He coughs out a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head. “Don’t be.  You – you’re –“ He pauses to swallow. “It’s good. You're - really good. I -I – just can’t wait anymore. Do you – um – do you wanna go upstairs – or even the guest room?” He says – all in the same breath. “There’s a bed.”

“Oh.” She smiles.

She isn’t sure. She scoots back on the couch and licks her lips. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

He looks at her softly, rips the condom foil. She watches him roll it on as he speaks. He sounds nervous, almost guilty. “I want to fuck here.”

She gives him a sensual smile, wets her fingers in her mouth and rubs herself. His eyes dilate, fixed on her actions.

“Then let’s fuck here.” She says.

He leans down with a grin and kisses her. He climbs onto the couch, languidly crawls over her body. Her nostrils flare when a distinctly potent scent hits her. It’s her own smell, her cum drying over his clumpy facial hair. She never imagined that it would work for her like that: the idea of _her_ , lingering on his face, it makes her head spin and her cunt clench.

He touches her gently - hair to heels. He slides his palm up her legs to in between her thighs. She’s soaking wet by the time he gently slips his fingers into her pussy. 

“Good.” He murmurs.

She closes her eyes and braces his shoulders when he probes her with his sheathed dick

“Hey.” She hears.

“Yeah?” She opens her eyes, her body tensing with anticipation.

“I told you I’m not going to hurt you. You may not trust – anyone else - but you gotta trust me.” He says firmly.

“Okay.” She nods, feeling foolish and insecure. She looks up at the ceiling. There’s a ridiculously stupid stained glass on it that catches her attention.

“Eyes on me, Baker.” He says.

His bossiness distracts her. She’s tempted to roll her eyes at him, but complies anyway; she locks her gaze with his. 

Her jaw drops, when he stretches her out, sliding inside.

It's painfully unhurried and deliciously slow. She throws her head back and whimpers loudly until her voice dies into a wimpy rasp.  He grabs her hips to hold her steady and slides deeper, covering her mouth with his own, catching the little yelp that follows. He kisses her as he moves, deep, smooth and slow. She screws her eyes shut, wills her body to adjust to him.

He presses kisses on her cheek, her jaw, her ear - little blissful sensations that pull her mind away from that discomfort between her legs. A tight spiral of heat inside her unfurls slowly, she gives in, sinks deeper into the cushions under her, slips her hands up and down his back. The sheen of sweat that covers him excites her. She nips ad licks his shoulder, swiping her palms over the tiny droplets. She concentrates on the way his large dick feels, sliding in and out of her. All the muscles of his body that she gets her hands on -  they’re tensed rigid, like he’s dampening them down with his restraint.

“Fuck!” He hisses in her ear. “You’re so tight, baby. Just so – so tight. Oh man _Fuck_!– you feel so good.”

That gets her moving, somewhat. Her pulses are slow, somewhat shy compared to his long, deep thrusts.

“You okay?” He asks in shaky voice.

 _More than just fuckin’ okay,_ she wants to say. “Yeah.” is all that comes out.

“Does it feel good?” He says, creasing his brow.

 _More than good,_ she wants to say. A croaky hum is all that she can muster.

He pushes off her chest and catches her chin, peering into her face. His pupils are so far out that his eyes are almost black. She draws her hips back, folds her knees, moans loud and shuts her eyes as he bottoms out, humming and sighing with his movements. When she opens them he’s still looking at her. His thrusts get faster and erratic. He gently kisses her forehead. “You’re beautiful. So, so - beautiful.” He says and kisses her lips again. She surrenders to the kiss, their teeth knocking against each other haphazardly.

A swell of emotion rises from within her chest, it hits her eyeballs like a wave – pricking tears well up, she blinks them away. 

It feels right. His skin on hers, his eyes on her, _him_ on her.

This, him, everything. It just feels right.

He dips his head into her shoulder, pushes her knee back, fucks her more vigorously. He slips an arm between them, reaches for her clit and circles it tenderly. She hugs him, wraps all her limbs around him – sighing into his shoulder, sinking her teeth into his deltoid and moaning loud when she feels that pull inside her belly. It pans over her body, stretching her out like a long yawn of fulfillment.

He cups her face, watching her intently as she comes – bright shining eyes with blown pupils that seem convinced of her orgasm. Through a hazy vision, she sees him clenching his teeth. She leans back and watches him squeeze his eyes shut before he groans loud and spills into the condom.

He breathes her name – once – resting his sweaty head against her pounding chest. “Ginny.” He whispers.

 _That’s who I am_ , is her last coherent thought.

 

“You’re not married, are you?”

She pries her heavy eyelids and cranes her neck. He’s lying on his side, regarding her, wedged between the backrest and her, head propped up on a folded elbow, other hand palming her ass.

“No.” She sniggers and catches his beard and tugs, shaking her head. “I’m – not.”

“Split personality?”

“No. Both my personalities are just fine.”

“Contract killer?”

“Nope.”

“Drug kingpin.”

“Nope.”

“Good.” He grins and leans his head. He pulls back just short of her lips. “What about a serial killer?”

“No.” She sighs.

“Succubus.”

“Succubus?” She repeats.

“Yeah – those sexy demons that suck your soul after seducing you.”

When he sees her mortified expression, he shrugs. “Worth a try.”

She bursts out in giggles and then nods. “You got me. I’m a succubus.”

He grins and leans to kiss her and pulls back again. “Spy?”

“Mmmm….yes and no.”

“Government or corporate?”

“Neither.” She sings and pulls his neck down.

He pulls his head back again. “Are you working for Rachel?”

“Why –“ She exclaims, exasperated. “Why - would I be working for Rachel?”

“Maybe she wants grounds to get my dealerships.”

“California is a no-fault state. I think she’s already got that one.” She shrugs

“You know way too much _not_ to be a contract killer.”

She cackles again. “Are we back to that one, again?”

He chuckles and leans down to kiss her. She loves the way he kisses her. It's soft, deep and she could kiss him all day.

“So –“ He says, clearing his throat. “That was – pretty good.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You were okay.”

She narrows her eyes at his cheeky expression, too drowsy to retort. He runs his hand across her sore side and then makes a very serious face. “You do know if we win tomorrow, we’re going to _have_ to do this every time.”

“ _Have_ to?” She huffs indignantly and shakes her head.

“Yeah, it becomes a ritual.”

She kisses his cheek. “ _That’s_ the ritual.”

“Yeah, but this one is _so_ much better,” He drawls.

He cups her breast and rolls the nipple around with his thumb. She swats his hand away. He sighs like he’s apprehensive. “Yeah – I mean, it’s going to be _really_ difficult. Ginny, Margie – two women in one…” He runs his hand down her body. “…gorgeous body.” He drops his voice. She blushes with a small giggle.

“Both are such a handful!” He widens his eyes, groping the soft mound over her sex. “But I guess I have to take one for the team. I mean I’m the captain. And hey – you know us ballplayers…”

“You’re a whole bunch of superstitious wimps.” She states.

He stops kneading and looks at her. “C’mon – like you didn’t have any pre-game rituals of your own.”

“Nope.”

“Every player has something he does.”

“ _She_ didn’t.”

“Oh really? And what made _her_ so special.”

“Me.” She says, raising her eyebrow at him meaningfully, because this is getting weird now, “...hard work, discipline, focus, endurance. Not luck.”

“Huh.”

She widens her eyes at him to say ‘yes.’

“Well…” He presses soft kisses on her eyelids and nuzzles her nose. “…this takes hardwork too…” he fingers her clit till she’s wet again, “discipline…focus…endurance…” He pulls away and winks at her. “…little bit of luck.”

She bursts into laughter, shaking her head at his idiocy, she twists towards him, palms his cheek and reaches up to give him a sweet kiss.

“You’re so full of yourself.” She snipes, without any bite.

“Told you –I’m a narcissist.” He nods at her, grimacing like he’s stating a cardinal fact of life.

He pulls his fingers out. “You’re – way too tight, Ginny.”

“Hmm?”

“How old are you, really?”

Her smile fades.

“And how long have you been doing this – Margie – thing?”

When he sees the look on her face, he shakes his head. “Rachel was my last, but not my first – I know – I can tell. You haven’t done this much.” He says, resting his hand of the curve of her hip.

He tightens his grip when she inches away. “No, it’s fine.” He says, quickly, leaning his face against hers. “I don’t wanna know what you don’t wanna tell me.”  He curls his arm between her thighs to fondle her again.

“You’re good man, Mike Lawson.” She says, sighing in response to his touch.

“You seem to be the only person who thinks that, Ginny Baker.” He mumbles against her temple.

“You’re moody, cranky, grumpy old bear.” She smiles and adjusts herself wrapping her thigh around his hip, spreading herself out, giving him full access. “With an arguably useful beard and the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”

“Biggest dick you’ve ever seen?” He widens his eyes feigning astonishment, working her clit and tracing her splayed folds at the same time. “Really?”

“Yes, don’t be all modest about it.” She retorts – groaning as he hooks his fingers inside her. “After all, you’re only a narcissist- _aah_!” She throws her head back when he crooks his finger, rolling her clit with his thumb,  giving her the same lopsided smirk he flashed before he went down on her.

She climaxes, swiftly and softly, sighing loud, burying her head under his neck.

When her body feels like it’s about to work again she looks up at him. He’s got that shit-eating smile again.

“You know what you really need to win that game.” She says, her voice raw and brassy. She reaches for his half-hard manhood.

“Mmm?” He rolls his eyes shut.

She gives it a squeeze. “A good night’s rest.” She says. “Which is what _you_ need, if you’re plan to beat _Dodgers_ tomorrow, Old Man…technically today.”

He opens his eyes and then looks at her mischievously. She grins wide, and jacks him off holding his gaze. He half-laughs, half-snorts, just pulls her closer and lets her do her thing, looking at her face with a mix of affection and amusement. He jerks his hips when he’s close, his elbow buckles and he flops his head down into her shoulder, his thick, glossy release exploding all over her hand and thighs.

 

He points to the bathroom with a shaky finger when she asks for it. She gives him a quick kiss and rolls off the couch.

“You can take a shower, if you want.” He says, flopping onto his back, spreadeagled, looking up at her with a lazy smile. “ _We_ – can shower together, if you want.”

“I uh – I have to go.” She says, pouting.

“Will I see you again?” He asks, as she picks up her clothes. She wonders if she imagines the hopefulness in his voice.

“I hope so –“ She smiles. “Maybe, then I’ll tell you what I want to tell you – but can’t just yet.”

“You mean that?” He looks pleased – and sleepy. She sees his eyelids drop.

“Yes. Hey, Old Man?”

“Yeah?” He cracks an eye open.

“Good luck for the game today.” She bends and kisses him on his cheek.

“Stay, Ginny.” He mumbles and drifts off.

She can’t, that’s the problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm - i'm sure there was a plot in this chapter somewhere, maybe it got lost under Mike's beard.


	4. Restoration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plotty, fluffy, little sexy, angsty

The posh street he lives on curves for about half a mile before merging with a plush boulevard along the waterfront. Ginny is dog-tired but she chooses to walk the entire way, soaking in the picturesque landscaping blanketed by the night. The locality seems like a serene idyllic dream compared to the obscure underbelly of San Diego. The structural designs are glossy, enrobed with style and opulence, protected by high-end security and classy neighbourhood patrols. She breathes in fresh night air that doesn’t reek like Margie’s neighbourhood. It’s fragrant, dewy, uncomplicated.

Cynicism inevitably takes over as she strolls down the pristine pavements. She thinks a lot about of the vices of the privileged; about skeletons that reside in the luxurious walk-in closets of these homes, the dirty habits and secret affairs. The corruption that lay within their souls, never showing up on their perfect bodies or their manicured lawns.

She thinks of Mike. Inherently simple, yet encased by complexities.

His: _‘Failure, fiascos, fuck-ups and all’._ His: ‘ _I try to do the right thing. Even if I suck at it’._

She wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t backed out the first night they met. She wonders how it would have gone down, if she hadn’t opened her mouth about his rookie card and set his psyche asunder. What if he’d demanded sex, projected his anger towards Rachel at Margie, thrown money at her dismissively, demanded a blowjob like all the other johns.

Then she would say the magic words - the signal that has Duarte storm in. Her partner would apprehend him, parrot out his Miranda rights. She’d slip out unnoticed in the orchestrated confusion, watch her one-time hero being led away in cuffs from the shadows, booked and processed like every other common perp. The press would follow, the scandal would explode, and even with the best lawyers and the least sentencing, his reputation, his dignity, his career and by extension his world would explode in hie do’.  A debriefing in the wee hours at a crappy overnight diner after long day at _both_ r have known the unselfish, sensitive, kind heart under that mask of vanity. She, as Margie, would move on to the next sting, disappointed and disillusioned, telling herself this is why one should never meet their heroes.

All that –

Because he loved a woman who couldn’t love him back.

 

* * *

 

 

She gets into a cab giving directions back to the dingy hovel that is Margie’s apartment when her phone buzzes with a text.

It’s Blip.  _Rosie’s. FW._

Blip only uses the abbreviation for forthwith when there’s an emergency rendezvous with the captain.

Every inch of her protests with annoyance and exhaustion when she gives the cabbie the new location. The weariness eats at her bones now. She only hopes she won’t fall asleep in the middle of one of Bellamy’s lectures on _‘why we do what we do’_.  A debriefing in the wee hours at a crappy overnight diner after long day at _both_ her jobs: real and fake, followed by some particularly sapping, albeit satisfying orgasms does not make her a very social person.

Luckily the Captain is in quite the forgiving mood. He’s extremely impressed by her ‘resourcefulness under extreme duress’. They haven’t processed the audio evidence she gathered but he tells her the video of Violet is incriminating enough.

“The problem is Sequeira. Him, being in the picture, it complicates matters.” Bellamy consoles Duarte. “We can expect interference from the Feds. There’s no way we have the resources to confirm he ordered the hit on your partner. Even then – it’s not our jurisdiction. It’s going to be out of our hands.”

Duarte hangs his head, hissing with frustration. She pats Duarte’s shoulder, not knowing what solace it offers.

“The only thing we can do is target Gleason. We’re close now. We still have to figure out where and how the money goes.” The Captain says. “Her finances are squeaky clean.”

“I think Pascal is the key.” Blip says. “He used to a coder, sold drugs online until they busted him – I’m thinkin’ he’s related to the mobile application they use to skirt the money.”

“So let’s lean on him. Wrap this up.” Bellamy nods.

“I have an asset that might be the key to Pascal.” She says, thinking of Cara. “She’s an escort, a free agent of sorts – with a lot of mettle. Violet’s tried to get her to pander the ‘LP’ on clients several times, she refuses to do it – even gets away with telling her off.”

“How is that girl still alive?” Blip asks, visibly amazed.

“I think Violet’s a little scared of her. Cara says she’s got something on Violet,” Ginny answers, “with the right incentive, I think, she’ll be happy to turn on her. I can work it out.”

“No, Baker.” Captain says. “You’ve done well. Above and beyond the call of duty. I’m putting you for a commendation. Take a couple of days off. Fly home. See your family. Just be back in time for re-certification.”

“If I disappear just like that, Violet is bound to get suspicious. Just – give me a few more days to work on my asset.” She pleads.

All three men look at her with varying degrees of worry.

“We’ve come this far.” She adds. “ _I’ve_ – come this far.”

Bellamy looks to Sanders. Ginny gets that he’s not looking to him as her current senior officer and handler. No, he’s looking at Sanders as her former TO. He’s wordlessly dropping the ball in Blip’s court. Blip stares at her with an unhappy expression for a long time.

“Okay Gin, two more weeks...” He says, finally. “But, I want you armed at all times.”

She has no issue with that. If nothing else that means she gets to wear more clothes.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Mike Lawson drives a three-run homer in the first game against the Dodgers that day, leading his team in a 6-1 victory. It gives the _Padres_ the momentum crush the next two games as well.

She hangs out with Cara at the end of her shift, watching him get mobbed by his overjoyed teammates at the end of the third game on the TV. The cameras all zoom in on him as he runs back to the dugout.

“You’re totally eye-fucking him.”  A tipsy Cara remarks. “Isn’t he the guy from the party that other night? I saw you two laughing. That blonde – you know the one with the wine issues? She’s his agent – she was asking me questions about you.”

Ginny downs her drink too quickly and Cara notices. She narrows her eyes at Ginny and her mouth curls in a sly smile.  “You want another drink, Margie?”

She does.

She has that drink, and another - and another. Ends up at his house at three a.m.

Unfortunately, she comes to her senses and questions her stupidity,  _after_ she hits the buzzer. The speaker comes on surprisingly quick for such an ungodly hour. He sounds, surprisingly awake.

“Hi, it’s me.” She says, tentatively.

He doesn’t even start with a hello. _“Did you see the first game?”_  He asks with the excitement of a little child.

“Er…”

“Oh right, sorry, come in!”

The small door makes a beeping noise and unlocks. She giggles, jogging up his driveway, beyond the second gate, up the steps that lead to the front door.

“Margie doesn’t watch baseball…” She says between huffs and then stares. He’s leaning against the hazy glass door, wearing nothing but his boxers, that impudent, all knowing look in his eyes.

“But, Ginny follows Mike with the reverence of a true disciple.” He states.

She bursts into giggles and launches herself at him. He walks her into the house, tearing at her clothes between hot, frantic kisses. There’s barely any foreplay and they don’t really make it past the foyer.

“Do you always roam around like that?” She says between gasps, pointing to the boxers lying across them. “Or was that just for me?”

“Figured I’d save time.” He gloats between puffy breaths, rolling onto his back on the cold floor. “Why did god make me so irresistible to women, I wonder?”

“Presumptuous too.” She comments, rolling on top of him because that Italian marble feels like an ice block and he’s so warm and cuddly. She rests her chin on his chest. “Condoms at the foyer sideboards, Old Man, really? How many women do you have sex with at this particular spot.”

“Just the lucky ones.” He grins and winks at her.

She kisses his nose.

“I’ve got a game against the _Marlins_ tomorrow.” He murmurs, trying to kiss her lips, but she plays hard to get. He chases her with his mouth and a widening smirk.

“I know.” She says, after she finally gives in and they make out softly. She bounds up, pulling her clothes on. “And _you_ should get a proper night’s sleep.”

He grunts in a peculiar fashion, grimacing in pain. Ginny can hear his joints crack as he finally gets to his feet. “I really should start hitting ‘em over the fence next time.” He complains. “I'm getting too old for inside the park home runs.”

“Not too old for foyer quickies.”

“Never too old for foyer quickies!” He laughs, hopping into on his boxers, groaning loudly and clapping his back.

“I gotta go.” She sighs.

“I know.” He smiles at her sadly, cups the back of her head to pull her close and kisses her forehead. “Can I at least offer you a drink?” He pleads with a sweet smile.

“You got any grape soda?”

“Uh, no.” He says, with a straight face and leads her to his kitchen. “Because _I’m_ not an eight-year-old.”

She twists her mouth with disappointment and then shrugs. “Just water then.”

“You wanna come by for dinner sometime this week – it’s back to back games, I usually come straight home after.”

“Dinner?”

“Well – I owe you for the uh – ‘pre-game kisses’.” He gives her a wide-eyed look. “Think of it - as a thank you.”

She knows he’s messing with her. She plays along. “A thank you, huh?”

“Yeah – with all the kisses…” He squints his eyes sexily. “…on _the cheek_. You’re doing a great service to the _Padres_. By extension a great service for the city of San Diego.”

“I’m already doing a service for the city of San Diego.” She quips, wryly - thinking of her job, her real one.

The sharp silence that follows tells her he’s mistaken her words. He’s probably assumed she’s being sarcastic about her fake job – _Margie’s_ job.

“You hungry, now?” He changes the subject. “I’ve got leftovers. Cilantro chicken and asparagus…”

“Yeah, not gonna happen!” She interjects with revulsion.

It must show on her face because he mistakes it for touchiness. “Relax, Baker. I was just joking about that whole ‘thank you’ thing. You don’t have to come by if you don’t want to. And, what you do doesn’t have to define you -”

“No, I meant…” She sniggers. “I hate cilantro.”

“Oh.” He looks relieved.

“It’s an evil, vile, contentious shrub that tastes like lotion on a good day and detergent on a bad one. It’s cool if you like it. I mean – I’m not one to judge. But there’s a scientific basis for my hating it. It’s got aldehydes. Aldehydes are used in soap and lye and they’re poisonous. And you know our brains are programmed to reject shit that smells and tastes like poison and –“

Her tirade arrests when she sees the gaping look of horror on his face. His eyebrows are so close to his hairline that all his forehead creases are punched together like a frill. He rolls his tongue around nods slowly, handing her the water tentatively, like he’s afraid she’ll attack him with it.

“You don’t like cilantro.” He peeps. “Got it.”

She purses her mouth sheepishly. He snorts a laugh and shakes his head.

“I should go.” She says, chewing on the scab over her lower lip nervously. “Sorry about the uh – cilantro freakout.”

He smiles at her, opens his arms. Ginny giggles and wraps herself around him, soaking up his scent. “Good luck for the game, old man.” She says, kisses him on the cheek.

“Be safe.” He whispers into her hair.

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The next few days pass quickly.

She changes her shift to match Cara’s. It’s the last one, the most crowded, busiest shift at _The Club_ , especially on the weekends. It’s gruelling but gives her more time to hang out with Cara.

She’s taken to wearing a series of modest sleeveless sheath dresses for work, just loose enough to strap on the protective vest underneath and knee-high boots that conceal the .38 pistol. Vincent notes the change. When he isn’t yelling at her, he keeps asking her if she’s found God. She pretends to laugh at his jokes while daydreaming about ‘accidentally’ punching him in the nuts.

 

The intelligence division appraises them that Sequeira is expected to stay in the city for a few more days; on account of which, it’s deemed too risky to have Duarte anywhere around her. The ‘john stings’ grind to a halt. As grateful as she is for the reprieve, it complicates matters for her with Pascal.

“He’s still in the city. I see him from time to time pandering his shit around _The Club_. I can’t keep eyes on Pascal _and_ waitress at the same time, Blip.” She complains.

So Blip takes over Duarte’s role. He comes in and around the club more often as a patron, merges in as a member of an elite motorcycle club. When they feel it’s time, he scopes out Pascal and approaches him directly, pretending to be a buyer. Pascal doesn’t take the bait. He claims not to know what Blip’s talking about and skulks away.

They realize that Blip’s profile was the problem only when it’s too late.

“Cara says that Pascal stays away from motorheads.” She updates Blip, afterwards.

“Yeah, I figured – he freaked out the minute he saw me. He’s had dealings with motorcycle gangs before. Didn't end well. We can’t go down that road now.”

“I saw him dash to Vincent’s office straight after you approached him.” Ginny says. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come back in Blip. Can you send someone else?”

 _“The Club_ is heavily guarded. Every patron and worker is photographed at entry, they all go through a through a screening process and denied re-entry if they’re problematic. I can’t create a profile and slip anyone else at the drop of hat, Baker.” He says. “We’re low on manpower as it is.”

“So what now?”

“I’ll put Duarte back on once we have confirmation that Sequeira is out of the city.”

She only hopes that is sooner than later.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The _Padres_ win a particularly gruelling game against the _Mets_ which they win by narrow margins. He sounds like he’s in pain when she calls him.

“Hi, it’s me.” She says.

He doesn’t say hello. _“I’m going to die.”_ He grunts.

“What? Why?”

 _“My knees, or maybe it’s my back.”_ He whines. “ _I think it’s both.”_

He speaks before she opens her mouth to offer sympathies. _“You know when you started calling me ‘Old Man’ – it was cute. Now, I don’t think so anymore. I think you’ve cursed me.”_

She chews her lips and waits for the punch line.

_“You gotta fix it – come over and let’s do it.”_

She starts to snort.

 _“No seriously – I’ll let you be on top. Actually. I don’t think I’ll have much of choice here, you_ have _to be on top.”_

She breaks into an outright giggle.

_“Say it – whatever it is you want to say. Don’t worry, I won’t kick your ass. I can’t even get off the damned bed without my spine cracking in ten different places.”_

“You’re being a dramatic, old man.”

 _“Ah…Rookie.”_ He sighs.

“Rookie?”

_“Oh sorry, did I say that out loud?”_

“You were thinking it?”

_“I don’t know I keep thinking of what it would be like, a girl joining my team. I’ll bet my lucky glove it would be a gimmick. It would be like a circus! I’m too old to join the circus.”_

She rolls her eyes. “You know men like you are the reason that…”

 _“But, I’d warm up to ya – don’t worry.”_ He interrupts her. “ _I’d even listen to all your feminista rants – and you’d interrupt all my speeches. I give great speeches, y’know? I could be in the movies.”_

She keeps laughing all the way.

_“Hey Baker?”_

“Yeah?”

_“It’d be so weird if you were my rookie.”_

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?

_“I wouldn’t be able to slap your ass. I’m an ass slapper – guys, we do it all the time. Then a girl coming along? And if it was you, with your perfect, pear-shaped ass – nah-ah, wouldn't be able to do it.”_

“Something tells me old man, nothing would stop you.”

_“Why? ‘Cause you’d slap mine right back?”_

She laughs. “Yeah I’d totally slap it back _and_ bite your head off.”

_“I wouldn’t mind. I have great ass. Yours is better – but mine’s pretty good too.”_

She chuckles in agreement. “You do have a fine ass.”

He snickers with her over the other end. The sound of his laughter makes her feel light and happy. She doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he thinks about her so much.

“Maybe…” She says, mischievously. “I’ll let you slap it the next time we meet.”

_“Yeah, don’t do that.”_

“Do what?”

_“Turn me on. My dick got hard the minute I started thinking about your ass, Ginny. I can’t reach down to jerk off -  that’s how bad it is.”_

She roars with guffaws.

 _“You’re okay, right?”_ He asks after all the jokes are done. “ _You’re safe?”_

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I am.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

_Rosie’s. Noon. FW._

The seedy diner is Duarte’s favourite. He’s already there, looking far too perky in her opinion. Blip’s probably on his way with the Captain, she reckons. Livan announces that he’s taken the liberty of ordering the best _Ropa Vieja_ she will ever taste.

It tastes like crap.

“What the..” She spits it out into the napkin, horrified at the way he gulfs it down.

“How can you eat that?” She hisses.

He mumbles something with a full mouth that she’s pretty sure is Spanish for ‘fuck you’.

“Papi, there’s cilantro in this.” She gags.

“So.”

“I hate cilantro!” She hisses.

“Seriously?”

She’s only told him that about five hundred times. “And _you_ know that.” She says.

“I do?”

So much for the ‘partners being closer than spouses’ bullshit they sicced on her at the academy.

“So, you wanna hear the good news or the bad news?”

“Good news.”

“You hit gold, Mami.” He whispers. “The recording was perfect. It’s goin’ over for transcription and official translation tomorrow.”  

He gives her verbatim account of Violet’s interaction with Sequeira and Marzano. As with all things vice-related, the argument itself came down to money and control.

“It’s as beautiful as a signed confession.” Duarte praises.

She almost cries with relief.

“And the bad news?”

“They’re giving me a new partner once you’re out.”

She pouts with disappointment.

“Don’t worry – it won’t last long, especially if it’s a woman.” He remarks wryly. “If you’re still in Vice, they’ll send me back to you, I’m sure of it.”

She glares at him.

“No, I’m not being sexist.” He smirks at her. “I mean I’ll probably sleep with her and fuck it up.”

“ _Ugh._ You’re such a pig.” She scolds. “What if she’s not your type?”

“I don’t have a type.”

That’s true.

“HR tells me.” He says, food stuffed in his mouth. “I have the worst equation with partners. Men and women.”

She knows that to be true. She’d heard about his history long before he was assigned to her. The thing with Duarte was that most of his partners couldn’t handle his brash, self-assured arrogance long enough to see the solid cop and friend he could be. Somehow they synced with each other almost instantly. Of all her partners, he’s the first who treats her like an equal. He never treats her like a junior and they know each other’s moves to a near-telepathic precision. Blip once told her, that of the two partners Duarte had ever sustained proper working relationships with, one ended up dead and the other was her. It still takes him by surprise at times that they get along so well.

“You sleep with the men, too?” She jokes.

“Not yet.” He sounds serious, like he’s considering something.

“Papi – it’s important to get along with people. You’re playing for a team here.”

“Speaking of teams. Police league softball games in three months. Can you still throw?”

“Of course, I can still throw.”

“Good, ‘cause I need a new battery mate.”

“Why? What happened to Marguiles from Homicide? Weren’t you guys practicing the last two months?”

“Yeah, and then I threw the ball at his head, broke his nose.”

“You did _what_?”

“He wasn’t listening, Mami.” He says, like it’s the most obvious reason to break a teammate’s nose. “He was busy flirting with the first baseman –- basewoman, actually. PO-III from 25th. I was just trying to get his attention, I didn’t mean to break his nose!”

“Oh my –!” She huffs in exasperation. “Papi!”

“ _Si, Si_ – let’s talk about something else. Did you tell Lawson?”

“You know I can’t.” She plays with the spoon.

“Did you…” He flashes a dimpled smile.

“Yes.” She says, looking him in the eyes.  “Once the op is over – I’ll tell him.”

“Yeah.” He snorts.

“What? You’re gonna give me the ‘friendly’ advice again – he’ll get bored, he’s still in love with his ex, yadda yadda.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it then?”

“Mami, you’re a cop – a damn good one and a badass.”

“So.”

“Not all men are secure enough to handle women that are – stronger and self-reliant.”

“What are you saying? He’ll be turned off because I’m a cop.”

“Maybe not at first.” He says, directly. “But – it might happen.” He gives her a lopsided smirk. “It looks like the sex is good. You don’t seem so wound up anymore.”

Ginny hides her smile and looks down.

“All I’m saying is, don’t take it seriously, that’s all. Just have fun – _si_? Enjoy it. Don’t get too involved. You don’t owe him anything.”

“I think I do.” Ginny says.

“What do you owe him?” Livan asks her, incredulous. “And why?”

She can’t really answer either of those questions in words.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s forced to sit out the next two games against the _Mets_ because of his back, which the _Padres_ inevitably lose. Ginny sees the evident frustration and disappointment on Mike’s face whenever the camera focuses on him.

She plays with her phone for the full hour, debating on whether she feels like dinner that night.

“Hi, it’s me.”

There’s no hello, again.  He sounds irritated. _“How many phones do you own? You call from a different number every time.”_

“Let’s just assume I don’t have any.” She says, thinking of the abundance of burner cells hidden in various spots around her apartment. “Let’s also assume, that I’m hungry.”

 _“Yeah, sure, come over.”_ He says, straightaway. _“There’s food.”_

“Well, since you’re begging me…” She mocks a sigh.

He grunts, doesn’t say anything more, just gives her the access codes to his gate.

 

He’s lying flat on the recliner section of the couch in the living room, heating pad under his back, watching what looks like a game replay on his large screen TV.

“You know it’s stupid to give a stranger your access codes.” She says, walking towards him. "What if I'm a burglar?"

His face brightens up when he sees her. She tells herself that shouldn’t read too much into it.

He points to a baseball bat that’s lying on the floor. “Yeah, that’s there.” He moans.

“For what?”

“In case you turn out to be a burglar.” His tone turns wry. “Provided I can stand up long enough to use it.”

“Bad game today, old man?” she asks.

“It’s your fault.” He says sombrely.

“My fault?”

“Yeah – see what happens when you don’t follow the pre-game rituals? I didn’t get any good luck kisses for the series against the Mets.”

She chuckles and shakes her head, bends down to kiss him. They french for a couple of minutes until he pulls away, tugging at her lip, giving her a goofy smile. He scans her face and neck, traces her skin randomly.

“They’re almost gone.” He murmurs, looking pleased.

Ginny looks at him feeling a heady wave of something she isn’t ready to accept yet. She’d almost forgotten about the contusions. He curls a hand gently along the side that was injured, thumb prodding at her sideboob. “This still hurt?”

“Not anymore.” She smiles.

“I ordered some Italian for you.” He twists and points to a container on the coffee table. “Grape soda’s in the fridge.”

She frowns looking at the container size. “What about you?”

“My dinner’s in the oven.” He moans. “The housekeeper made it. She puts cilantro in everything so I figured you wouldn’t want it.” He shrugs and sits up with a loud groan.

“I have a gene that makes me hate it.” She blurts. “It doesn’t always taste like soap. Sometimes it tastes like sand.”

“Yeah okay!” He interjects quickly. “I didn’t ask.”

She stuffs her words back in her mouth.

“I just…” She mopes. “I hate cilantro.”

“I think that’s an established fact now.” He guffaws. “You don’t have to give me a half-hour explanation on it every damn time!”

“But you’re such a good listerner.” She coos, winding her arm around his back. She can feel the spasm along the entire length of his spine.

“Hey, no need to get clingy or anything.” He growls and leans his weight on her to stand up. “I’m just tryin’ to get into your pants.” He grits his teeth.

“Seems like you can’t even get into your pants, Old Man.” She remarks, pinching the baggy sweats hanging lose about his waist.

He grins at her and tips his chin. “Maybe you should get into mine, then?” He gives her a sexy wink.

 

There’s a freakish sense of normalcy about the way they eat dinner. Just hanging out, chatting, joking, the TV playing in the background.

He talks about baseball mostly; a safe, easy and comforting topic that gives Ginny an odd sensation: like her spirit was floating around aimlessly, constantly attaching itself to a body that didn’t feel like hers – and now with him, she feels like its hit the right spot.

She feels like herself.   

Rachel Patrick’s show comes on, about the time they are done eating.

Ginny freezes, dunked in an ice-cold bucket of plausible reality: that she might be band-aid on a bullet hole; that they’re not even defined in any way beyond two people who met by chance under extreme circumstances.

She half-expects him to shrivel into anger, change the channel with haste, but he seems completely oblivious to the TV. In fact, he’s busy stealing the last pieces of bacon off her plate.

“What?” He turns to the TV when he sees her expression. She sees a flash of irritation in his eyes and then he looks back at her. “Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No – I thought you might want to…”

“Oh.” He frowns like something’s occurred to him. He shrugs, doesn’t change the channel, doesn’t even turn off the TV – doesn’t say anything for a while, either.  

The awkwardness disturbs her. She doesn’t do well sitting still so she starts clearing the plates.

“Leave it.” He says, tersely. “All of it. Sofia’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.” She says.

“I’m releasing a statement next month.” He says. “After I’m back from the away games.”

“I’m sorry, Old Man.” She says, reaching for his hand.

“Maybe it’s for the best.” He shrugs, gives her a wan smile and squeezing her hand. He doesn’t release it until he leads her to his room.

They don’t really speak much after that.

 

She makes him sit on the edge of his majestic bed, makes him watch her as she undresses, does not allow him to touch her, feeling an illogical sense of power and authority as she takes off her clothes under his darkening gaze. He raises an eyebrow, and his mouth curls upwards when she reveals the bright orange balconette bra and matching bikini cut panties – goods borrowed from Margie’s wardrobe.

“You wear that for me?” He asks, just as she climbs onto him, feeling his growing hard-on against her belly.

She answers with a sly smile, pins him on his back under her, pulls off his clothes, explores him with her hand and mouth, committing the way he feels and tastes to memory.

He seems happy to have her on top, stays obediently under her pithy weight, giving her complete control. She suspects it’s more because of his back than pure unselfishness.

She gets her mouth on his dick, sucks him off – feeling less intimidated, more self-confident this time. She takes his release in her mouth, his eyes fixed on her actions all the way.

She crawls up his length, shedding her outrageously fluorescent undergarments. He glides down with a naughty smile until her knees are on either side of his neck. He doesn’t even blink before he wrenches her down, burying his face between her spread thighs, eating her out. She grabs the headboard and grinds down in his mouth and beard, crying herself hoarse, nearly suffocating him, soaking his furry face, almost topples off the bed when she comes.

There’s more teeth to his kissing. He pecks at her lips, marks her neck and chest with hickeys. His touch is more weighted, more urgent. There’s a slighter ferocity to the way he suckles and bites at her breasts. The fingers mapping out her legs, her sides and her belly feel demanding. He grabs her ass with more force than before, tight enough to bruise without pain.

He’s quiet. No jokes, no wisecracks. He seems absorbed with her, observing her with a pensive curiosity. He doesn’t even let her turn off the light after she rolls the condom on him.

But, she cannot help it, those stray whispers of doubt that pop up - if he’s thinking of his wife, if his touch harbours a seething anger or a longing that’s being projected on to her.

It doesn’t impede the sense of power she feels when she sinks over him. His long drawn hiss as she draws his rigid length into her, the way he breaks eye-contact momentarily when she rolls her hips, his appreciative moan when she rocks forward, it all makes her throb in a wild tizzy of satisfaction and pleasure. She rides him at a pace that he lets her set. He studies her with a small smile, clawing his fingers into her waist, eyes darting between her bouncing breasts and her face, darkening more and more with every pulse of his dick. She savours the sweet agony of her cunt stretched around his girth, how good the aching fullness feels fitted inside her. He slips his palm between their joined bodies, makes her come before he fucks out the last few thrusts inside her.

She slumps over him, whining and whimpering, lulled by the soft rapping sounds of his slowing heartbeat.

He wakes her up twice at the night. The first time, she’s too drowsy, she rolls on her back still somewhere in embers of her sleep as he settles on top of her. She cradles him in a haze as he rocks into her. She gasps with awareness, his growl in thundering in her ear, eyes flying open, unsure if it’s his orgasm that awoke her or her own.  

The second time she’s a tad more vigilant, more conscientious of his back. She lays on her side, her back spooned into his front, swings her leg back and lets him take her from the behind. He bites the back of her shoulder when he blows his load, pinching her nipple, working her clit feverishly until her body jerks and arches back and she throbs submissively to his fingers. He whispers her name in the afterglow, rubbing his lips on the shell of her ear, palming her sweaty body soothingly.

She falls asleep right away, nestled into him, and she dreams –

She dreams of him, dreams of baseball, dreams of him and baseball. She dreams of pitching to his calls, she dreams of laughter and jibes, elbowing each other, wearing matching baseball uniforms and cleats. She dreams of endless speeches, grumpy faces, silly interruptions, uncontrolled smiles, sitting together in the dugout, practicing in the bullpen. She dreams of playful banter, heated arguments, cold shoulders, nervous rifts. She dreams of bonding, flirting – phone calls at night.

Pleasant dreams. Dreams she could live in forever.

 

 

Ginny’s fully dressed, rushing down the stairs in the morning, when her phone rings. Her blood runs cold when she realizes _which_ phone it is. It’s neither the burner, nor her police phone. Only one person calls on _that_ phone.

Mike is already downstairs, waiting on her with a cup of coffee. She gives him a quick smirk, and walks straight past him to the extreme end of glass door overlooking the cerulean pool to answer the call. He crosses his eyebrows in curiosity at her behaviour.

“Madame V?” she whispers into the phone, glancing at Mike with a smile that she hopes is reassuring.

 _“Margie.”_   Violet’s clipped tones come. _“I’m disappointed in you.”_

“Why? What did I do?” She whispers, opens the glass panel and steps out, shutting it behind her.

_“You haven’t made any of the targets at all this week. You’re distracted. I’m not paying you to be a club waitress, my dear.”_

“Oh – it’s just – I’ve been…” She circles around to the far edge of the pool, towards the view overlooking his basketball court. “Unwell.”

_“I don’t recall giving you any sick days.”_

“No, I mean – I have an infection.” She lies.

_“I see.”_

“I know how particular you are about us being clean.” She says, in her most pathetic voice. “The Doc said it’ll be clear in a few days. I think one of my clients gave it to me.”

 _“This is why I insist on regular check-ups and prohibitives.”_ Violet says. _“I’m not a tyrant, Margie. I’m like your Mama...”_

 _You’re no mama of mine,_ she wants to say.

“… _I take care of you…”_ Violet says and then goes into a long speech about how Margie was nothing, Margie was filth and Margie was a regular street tramp and how ‘Mama V’ lifted her out of the slime, cleaned her up and gave her a new life.

She yawns, wondering what it is about bosses and speeches. She glances at Mike as Violet prattles on. He’s turned towards her observing her with unmasked concern. She turns her back to him and concentrates on the still surface of the pool to calm down.

“Yes, Ma-ma.” She bites out, cooking up lies in her head as she paces around the short edge of the pool. “He just – he didn’t want to wear a condom. Said he likes it to be natural.”

_“I agree – the client’s satisfaction is paramount.”_

“I’ll make up for it.” She fibs. “I’ll get you double as soon as I’m clear.”

_“Well, of course you will. You don’t wanna upset Mama, do you?”_

“No Madame.” She says, rubbing her eyes.

_“That Cara’s too much of a free spirit. I’m worried she’s a bad influence on you.”_

“She’s just my friend, ‘s all.”

_“You don’t have any friends when you work for me.”_

“Yes Madame.” Ginny says, just before Violet hangs up without as much as a goodbye.

She slaps her forehead and hisses, fighting off the urge to scream. She takes a few long puffs of air, fluffs her hair out, tries to calm herself.

 _Cara’s safety is at risk,_ she decides. She pulls out her the other phone and texts Blip about the situation. _It’s time,_ Ginny tells to herself while she plans a strategy in her head. _You can’t screw around anymore. This is the endgame._

She turns around to look in the direction of the kitchen, at Mike and –

_Jolly fuck._

He’s not alone.

He’s sitting on one of the high chairs at the breakfast bar, turned in her direction but not looking at her. He’s waving his arms about talking to a familiar blonde.

Amelia Slater is there, standing across him, in a crisp white business dress, blonde hair ironed straight, arms crossed, her front to the pool. She prowls gracefully to the pool door when she spots Ginny. Ginny can see her thin mouth moving, as though she’s conversing with Mike, even if her gaze is fixed entirely on Ginny.

Ginny walks towards the house. Amelia’s nostrils flare even though a smile spreads on her face. A smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

The glass door isn’t completely sound proof, but Amelia must think it is. She keeps talking with her teeth bared in a smile directed at her. Ginny keeps her face straight as she advances, Amelia’s dampened voice floating across the screen with remarkable clarity.

“…fucking groupies before announcing the separation is unwise, Mike. If it gets out, you’ll be seen as the guilty party by the public. The media will slander you left and right. It won’t be good for your brand.”

Amelia waves at Ginny and motions for her to come in. Ginny wonders if the woman knows how fake she appears when she’s trying to be nice.

Ginny steps inside with a smile plastered on her mug. “Hi.”

“Hi!” Amelia sings. “I’m Amelia Slater – Mike’s publicist. What’s your name?”

“Gi-“ She starts without thinking and then bites her tongue.

“Margie!” Mike says, quickly. “You remember her, Amelia? From the party.”

Realization dawns on her face. “Oh right – yeah, Margie Tyrell, right?”

 _Well_ , Ginny thinks. _She may not remember what wine she wants but she sure remembers Margie._

“I didn’t recognize you without -  make-up.” She scans her shift.

“Right.” Ginny nods.

“Am I – interrupting something?” Amelia says, swiping her long fingers in the air, between her and Mike.

“There’s nothing to interrupt.” Ginny says, faking a smile.

“Isn’t there?” Amelia gives her a pinched smile. Amelia taps her neck and then points to Ginny’s. “That’s quite the lovebite.”

Ginny reaches for her neck and feels a tender spot. It _is_ a hickey – right over a healing contusion. Mike rubs his face and lets out an audible sigh of frustration.

“I uh – I have to go, now.” Ginny says.

“Margie, wait, don’t go – she’s just dropping some papers off.” Mike pleads.

Ginny goes over to Mike. “Something’s come up.” She presses her lips on the shell of his ear. “I really have to go.”

He catches her hand, runs his thumbs along toughened skin on the edges of her fingers – old pitching calluses.  His eyes are filled with an adoration that warms her heart.

“I may not call for a bit.” She whispers.

He nods. “It’s fine…you do what you gotta do.” He whispers, in her ear, casting a warning glance at Amelia. “Just don’t end up _dead_ or anything.”

Ginny swallows uncomfortably when he says that.

“I’m kidding!” He asserts.

She knows he is. His witticism hits just too close to home, that’s all.

“Good luck for the season, Old Man.” She whispers and kisses his cheek again, glaring defiantly at Amelia.

She steadies her chin, squares her shoulder, and raises an eyebrow at the pointed looks Amelia Slater throws her on the way out.

Amelia doesn’t even wait for her to leave the room before Ginny hears her reprimand.

“Mike, you can make faces at me all you want.” She overhears Amelia say. “It’s not going to stop me from looking out for you.”

Ginny keeps walking, aware the Mike’s probably waiting for her to leave. She slows her steps at the foyer, knowing she’s out of sight for them.

“I know.” She hears him say.

“You’re hurting, Mike.” She hears Amelia speak. “Your wife left and it’s hardly been a few weeks.”

“Rachel left me the day she decided to jump into bed with that guy!” Mike bellows, his booming voice carrying through the vast space of the house. “She left me well _before_ a few weeks, Amelia!”

Amelia’s voice drops to a handholding tones. “I understand, Mike. And I guess groupies make for excellent and willing stopgaps. The problem is, it also makes you vulnerable. Groupies tend to be gold-diggers.”

Ginny rolls her eyes and opens the door softly. Her heart sags and her footsteps freeze when she hears Mike’s reply. “I know.” He says.

“So?” Amelia prods.

“So what?” She hears the shrug in his voice. “She’s not a groupie.”

Her heart flutters up then, she feels stupidly ecstatic all of a sudden.

“Then what is she?”

“I don’t know –“ She hears a slight waver in his voice. “She’s – she’s - special.”

Ginny tucks her lower lip under her teeth, smiling idiotically and shaking her head. She catches a reflection of her ditzy expression and the blush on her cheeks in the mirror adjacent the foyer entrance. There she is – Ginny Baker, poster-child for heart eyes.

“Don’t be silly! They all seem special until they’re not!” She hears Amelia’s whine of incredulity.

She doesn’t stick around to hear more.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Pop used to insist on her getting accustomed to sleeping in uncomfortable places and sleeping positions “It’s useful for the road,” he would tell her. That’s how she gained an ability to power down at will, regardless of the circumstances. It comes handy on the job, allows her to gain suitable periods of rest despite living in a noisy building with thin walls and under a constant threat to her life.

Margie’s skeevy one bedroom is a shithole. The tenants are either fighting or screaming, unwatched kids are _always_ running up and down the stairs, babies are _always_ crying. The couple upstairs seem to have some adventurous sex that rattles her ceiling, _all_ the time. The next door lady is nosy and keeps knocking on her door, _all_ the time. And if all is quiet – then the building itself makes noise, _all_ the time. Creaks from the stairs, wails of door hinges, drips from leaky faucets

Ginny trudges to the dilapidated cover apartment after checking in with Blip and appraising him of her conversation with Violet.

She’s restless and irritable. Violet, Amelia, Cara – all three women playing on her mind in some crazy, non-sequential dance of thoughts.

She plops face down on the rickety bed, hugs her pillow and thinks of Mike. She purrs when memories of his kisses tease her, she drifts into the memory of his arms around her – an abyss of affection and acceptance that’s cut off from the sphere of violence and crime she lives in. She falls asleep thinking about his words to Amelia.

Her slumber is so deep that it takes the relentless banging sound on her door to drag her out of it.

Cara storms into her apartment, chattering away. Ginny’s practically sleepwalking and it takes her about five minutes to realize that her friend is furious. For the next ten minutes, she fiddles sleepily with the coffee maker and listens Cara rant about Pascal.

If the coffee didn’t taste that lousy, she wonders if she’d even have picked on it.

_The Padres guy?_

“What _Padres_ guy…?” She stops Cara mid-rant.

Wide awake, fully alert she mentally records Cara’s conversation and realizes she’s got another way to nab Violet on drug charges without losing Sequeira.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

In Ginny Baker’s opinion, Amelia Slater is like a zit.

The sort of pesky thing that lays lurking under the skin, one knows it’s there, but one can’t always see it, it pricks occasionally, won’t go away and if unattended, chooses to bloom into a red, swollen, fugly mini-abscess at the most inopportune moment like when one has a really hot date, or a big interview or a public appearance.

She appears at _The Club_ two nights after that morning.

It’s a slow night and Ginny doesn’t expect much drama or brawling and is honestly looking forward to finishing her shift, checking in with Blip and watching the highlights of the Padres last home game against the _Mets_. 

“Hey! Margie!” Cara calls to her as she reaches the bar. “That lady wants to speak to you?”

Ginny hisses.

“At least, she’s sure which colour wine she wants this time.” Cara gives her toothless smirk.

Ginny grabs the bottle of white and marches across to the blonde woman. “Hi Miss Slater.” She says, pouring the wine into the glass the woman sets down. “You wanted to see me? Can I get you something else?”

Amelia’s tossing her mane, twiddling her thumbs at her phone and looks at Ginny down her nose without moving her face. “Can you take a break? I wanna talk to you.” She says. She points up to one of the enclosed private areas.

“I’m sorry, I’m working, and I just started my shift.” She smiles at her coyly.

Amelia doesn’t back down. “Do you want me to speak to your boss?” She says, finally tilting her pointy chin up.

“You might get me in trouble with Mr. Gleason.” She tries timidity again.

Amelia narrows her eyes at her. “Something tells me you like flirting with trouble.”

“Yeah.” Ginny smirks. “I’ll pass.”

 

She thinks she’s rid of the Slater woman when the lady disappears for a while, long enough for Ginny to forget meeting her in the first place. She doesn’t see Pascal around the club that night. She’s about to ask Cara about it when Amelia returns in Ginny’s line of sight, very much like an annoying overlooked zit, with none other than Violet _fucking_ Gleason.

She had no idea Violet was visiting _The Club_ today, but that doesn’t make her as nauseous as the sight of both women smiling so sweetly at each other.  

And then the proverbial zit bursts. Amelia points to her directly, Ginny finds herself the subject of Violet Gleason’s direct gaze.

Violet is methodical. She never acknowledges any connection to her ‘girls’. The escorts all have strict instructions never to speak or even look at her in public. Ginny has never witnessed it, but it’s a known fact that the occasional slip led to painful, sometimes fatal punishments. Her ability to pull off complete unfamiliarity without even the slightest tick on that botox-infused face surprises Ginny every single time.

Ginny’s bladder feels the brunt of her mortification – transfixed to her spot, trapped by the soulless eyes of Violet Gleason. Amelia crooks a finger at Ginny. Ginny propels forward like a zombie. Violet’s cold glare follows her all the way until her face transforms into an equally icy grimace.

Violet is happy to see fear on her face. It’s unintentional on Ginny's part, but at least it works in Margie's favour

Thing is, the fear that passes through her, giving her cutting urge to piss in her pants – it’s not for herself. It’s for her mission – it’s also for Mike.

If Violet finds out about her and Mike…

_Oh God._

He’s her one and only weakness in this whole game.

If the Gleasons find out about her seeing Mike, it puts his life at risk. They can use him to coerce her. they can hurt him to hurt her. God forbid, her cover gets blown – she doesn’t want to think about what they’d do to him.

“Is this the one?” Violet asks, in a voice so maternal, one wouldn’t know there was a demon that lived under that classy face. “Well, I agree with you Amelia, she sure is a pretty one.”

“Yeah – just for a few minutes, Vi.” Amelia gives her a gracious smile.

“What is your name dear?” ‘Vi’ asks.

“Margie.” She chokes.

“Well, Margie, Miss Slater would like to speak to you for fifteen minutes. She wants you to sign with her agency. Would you like to be a model?” She asks in that terrifyingly innocent tone.

“No, Madame.” She says. “I’m happy working here.”

“Well, you hear what she has to say, then you can decide.” Violet waves her hand suavely. “Run along now.”

 

Ginny stomps into the VIP alcove on the balcony, she holds the curtain apart from Amelia to stalk in and then she shoves it shut.

“You’re going to get me fired.” She bites out before Amelia can say anything.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I just wanna talk.”

“Talk.”

Amelia slinks into the lounge chair and looks at her up and down. “Mike Lawson’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?”

She huffs.

Amelia cocks her head. “He’s got a lot of groupies. A-level groupies. He’s got good taste.”

She folds her arms and looks at Amelia defiantly.

“You know, when you first meet the guy – he comes off as this _womanizer_. Cocky, ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ type, thrill seeker – and he’s so smooth. But he’s a great guy. He’s got a good heart.” Amelia sighs. “And he makes _me_ laugh.”

“Good.” Ginny bites out. “I hope you two are very happy together.”

Amelia makes a noise that could be fooled for a chuckle. “I’m not – we’re not.” She coughs. “He’s my client and that makes him a priority for me. His brand, his image, what he represents – everything comes under scrutiny.”

“Thing is,” Amelia says after a pause. “He’s also my friend and he’s a good guy. Maybe too good, at times.”

Ginny sighs.

“And it is _my_ job –" Amelia’s tone gets threateningly emphatic, “- to protect him from any untoward elements.”

“Okay.” Ginny says, checking the time. Five minutes are up.

“Possession with intent to distribute, trespassing, assaulting a police officer, vandalism – shoplifting.” Amelia says slowly. “All that – while you were a minor. Two _years_ in Juvie.”

Ginny blinks.

“That’s just your criminal history.”

_Margie’s criminal history._

“You have about thirty-thousand dollars of student loans to repay.” She says. “And you didn’t even complete college! Where’d the money go? And don’t even get me started on the ten thousand dollars of credit card debt. How much do you make as a club waitress again?”

_Margie’s credit history._

“And then there’s the fact that you are a registered escort.” Amelia says, crossing her legs and rapping her knuckles. “I’m sure it pays, but how much? Unless, there are other favours you perform, on the side?”

_Margie’s identity._

“Margie Tyrell is a train-wreck.” Amelia finishes. “And, I’m sure having a sugar daddy would make things convenient.”

“Is that it?” Ginny asks, sucking in a deep breath.

“That’s what I could find on a day’s notice. I’m sure there are other gruesome things about you if I dig deeper.”

 _Margie, she found Margie._ Ginny breathes. Amelia hasn’t found Ginny in all that snooping. Thank god for Detective Sergeant Blip Sanders and his meticulous cover profiles.

Ginny huffs out. It’s a sigh of relief but it has Amelia sneering; no doubt, she’s mistaken it for culpability.

“Okay, you’ve done your job, lady.” Ginny says, blandly. “I’ll back off.“

“I’m surprised they hired you.” Amelia shrugs. “This is a respectable establishment. My firm represents Violet as well, you know.”

Ginny doesn’t tell her that ‘Margie’ is exactly the sort of girl that Violet Gleason targets. She is certain that Amelia wouldn’t be so boastful of her client if she knew the truth. Amelia lives under the same mistaken assumption as the rest of the world - that Violet Gleason is a moral, honourable, upright businesswoman.

“So, here’s what I’m going to do.” Amelia pulls out her chequebook. “I can’t cover the entire thing but I can help you with your student loans.” She tears a leaf out and extends it out to her. “This is for thirty thousand. Take it, pay off a part of your debt – and stop seeing Mike.”

Ginny can tell she’s done this before. There’s a cruel smirk on playing on her thin lips. It is evident that Amelia is convinced this is all it takes buy Margie out.

Ginny takes it.

Because, she doesn’t owe Amelia any explanations as either Ginny or Margie. Because, the woman is the type who won’t relent until she gets her way. Because, arguing with her would prolong this conversation. Because, not taking the cheque would trigger another discussion. Because – the fifteen minutes are up and Violet will come for her if it takes a second longer.

Because she’s Margie now – but she’s Ginny _always_.

“If I see you anywhere around him – “ Amelia warns. “Getting fired will be the least of your worries.”

She cannot let Amelia’s inanity or her conceited presumptions cost her the operation that’s months in the works; an operation that cost Ginny her identity, almost her life at several occasions, put her partners at risk and yes, puts Mike at risk if the truth comes out. Her mission on this op, her vocation as an officer of the law and her moral and legal duty to protect Mike and Cara’s safety take priority over dropping Amelia Slater on her plastic ass.

“Please…” She feigns timidity as Amelia makes to leave. “Don’t tell Mrs. Gleason or Vincent about me and Mike. I have to work here. I need this job.”

Amelia nods definitively. Ginny has no doubt the blonde will honour the silent commitment. Maybe she will brag internally at having found another way to manipulate Margie in case the money doesn’t work.

If she’s being honest, Ginny thinks that she appreciates the woman’s tenacity, her care, affection and protectiveness for Mike. Maybe she’s even grateful for it on some level.

Irrespective of their methods and motivations she has something in common with Amelia Slater.

They both want to protect Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and yes big reveal next chapter...  
> PLEASE review.


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: Ack! Why is the chapter count increasing?  
> A: Some smut got in
> 
> yay no pitch thursdays!

Duarte laughs.

He is _not_ a laugher.

He snorts, he gives dimpled grins, he makes a lot of flirty and funny noises, he even sniggers from time to time – but he does not laugh - like that.

“You should frame this.” He says, between guffaws, flapping the cheque. “Give it back to the _bruja_ when she’s representing Gleason in orange prison couture instead of Vera Wang. She’s gonna need her money then. All her clients are gonna drop her on her white skinny ass when Violet gets arrested.”

Nothing like a funny Cuban to brighten her day. Ginny breaks into a smile.

He quickly stuffs the cheque into in his pocket when he spots Blip. He’s still grinning when Blip comes up to them.

“What’s so funny?” Blip asks, sliding into the booth.

“Mami has a zit problem.” Duarte answers, between chortles.

“Fuck you.” She retorts with a smile.

Blip peers at her face. “I can’t see any.”

“It’s a whitehead…” Duarte giggles. “…in her ass.” He bursts into a hysterics.

“He’s laughing.” Blip says, frowning at Duarte. “Ginny, the boy’s laughing. That’s just –"

“- not right.” Ginny agrees, nodding at Blip with a resigned face.

“Why are you smiling then?” Duarte asks Blip starts to smirk.

“I’m smilin’ at her.” Blip points to Ginny. “You just make me want to tear out my non-existent hair.”

“Ooh! Burn!” Ginny sings and covers her mouth breaking into a fit.

“Yeah.” Blip says, motioning at them to cut it out.

“What’s up Blip?” Ginny asks.

“There may be some backbone to that tip. The Feds have surveillance on Pascal.” He says. “Facial recognition has spotted him in and around _Petco_ multiple times since the season started. It doesn’t mean he’s dealing there and we can’t be sure it’s really a player he’s consorting with.”

“If Cara says it’s a player,” she says, “it’s a player. Whatever she’s told me so far has always panned out.”

“We don’t have a face or a name – won’t get a warrant for the player’s clubhouse if we don’t have probable cause.”

“So, what now?”

“Now, _you_ gotta decide if you wanna let her in on Margie’s secret.” Blip says. “Unless Cara’s willing to cooperate as a material witness and give us what she has on Violet, there’s no other way we can protect her.”

“She doesn’t trust cops, Blip.” She says, worried.

“I don’t blame her – “ Blip rubs his forehead, looking really tired all of a sudden. “Will she be up for a chat at least?”

Ginny’s uncertain. In her limited experience, potential C.I.’s respond with shock and betrayal when she revealed her identity to them. Cara was more than a potential C.I., she was a friend, her ally in this gruesome endeavour involving Violet. Ginny cared about the girl.

 

She decides to risk it. She expects a lot of anger and maybe even cold resentment.

Excitement – not so much.

“So, you’re saying that you’re a cop?” Cara whispers with a big cheerful smile. “Cool!”

Ginny exchanges a look with Blip. He shrugs, looking surprised himself. They turn back to look at Cara.

“So, the other night, when you said you know Krav Maga…” Cara prods.

Ginny grins and acknowledges it. “…I know Krav Maga.”

“For real?” Cara states, “you’ve got a lot of moxie, lady.”

She looks at Blip and then speaks. “I’d never have pegged Orphan Annie here to be a cop. But you…I did. I knew from the first day I saw you lurking around the club. You should tell your prop department or whatever it is that fixes your clothes, ‘cause I know a lot of motorcycle gangbangers, none of them would be caught dead wearing that.” She points to Blip’s black leather jacket.

“This is mine.” Blip mutters.

“Oh.” Cara grimaces. “Yikes.” She looks at Ginny and mouths the word ‘tacky’. Ginny gurgles with laughter.

“So…” Cara looks surprisingly unconcerned “Aren’t you going to arrest me for whoring without a license?”

“No.” Blip says. “As much as that is a part of what we do, that is not what we’re after.”

“I’m not a snitch.” Cara says, her smile fading slowly, before Blip or Ginny can say anything else.

Blip doesn’t react. Ginny nods.

“Violet called me.” Ginny tells her. “She’s unhappy that I wasn’t making the targets. She’s worried that you are a ‘bad influence’. I’m worried about your safety.”

“We can’t get you police protection.” Blip says. “Not unless you agree to work with us.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to give you what I have on Madame V. It’s my only insurance.” Cara says.

Blip pulls out his phone and shows Cara a series of pictures of unsolved murder victims. Cara cringes at them. When she looks away from the phone, Ginny thinks it’s because it’s gruesome, but then Blip speaks. “You know who these girls are.” Blip says, realization dawning on his face.

Ginny’s surprised at how quickly Blip understood that, she didn’t even come close to guessing. “They all worked for Madame V,” he adds. “That’s how they all ended up…”

“They ‘upset’ her.” Cara says. She glances at the phone and away. “Some of them were my friends.”

“And you’re my friend.” Ginny says. “I don’t want this to be your fate. It’s important you help us. Do you understand?”

Cara nods.

“You’re the not the only cops that have approached me, you know.” Cara remarks wryly. “At least y’all are nice enough to buy me pie, those other guys just threatened jailtime. I told them to stick it – I know they don’t have the proof to jam me.”

“What other guys?” blip frowns.

“Said they were from the DEA.” She puckers her eyebrows. “They wanted something on Pascal. I told them what I told you. I’m not a snitch.”

“Dammit.” Blip mutters softly.

“What?”

“The Feds have been on this from the start.” He whispers.  He looks at Cara. “Pascal is a sneaky rat. He’ll turn on you in a heartbeat, Cara. Protecting him won’t do you any good.”

“I know that. He set me up, got me in a whole lot of trouble. That’s why I broke up my friends-with-benefits thing with him.”

“Set you up how?” Blips asks.

“I er – can’t tell you.” She purses her mouth.

“And she didn’t try to hurt you?” Ginny asks.

“She wouldn’t dare.” Cara says. “If anything happens to me, the shit I have on her goes public – that’s all I can tell you.”

Blip waits for a couple of minutes before speaking. “I suggest you leave the city.” Blip says.

“I can’t.” She says. “Look, I won’t snitch on you either, but if I take off, her men will come after me. She won’t hurt me as long as I stay in San Diego. She may threaten a lot of things, but she won’t deliver on it. So, don’t worry, Margie – or whatever your name is.”

“Cara, this life is dangerous.” Ginny says. “Not only is it illegal, you’re involved with a lot of powerful people. People who can use you and hurt you.”

“Is there any safe place you can go to?” Blip asks. “At least for a couple of days?”

“I have some gigs in LA.” She says. “I can use them as an excuse. I’ve met all my targets this month, Violet won’t stop me.” She nods and she looks at Ginny. “Will I be seeing you at _The Club_ when I’m back?”

“We can’t be sure.” Blip says.

Cara flips through the pictures again. She points to one of the victims and sighs sadly. “That’s Sheena.” She echoes. “She and I were real close.”

Ginny reaches for Cara’s hand to console her. Blip blinks twice at Ginny. It’s a sign to be patient. So they both stay silent for a while. In fact, it takes more than a while – too long for Ginny to stay still and stay quiet. She’s impulsively about to start fretting when Cara lets out a long, sad sigh.

“I don’t want to be a witness or anything.” Cara says, looking up at them with wet eyes. “And I am _not_ giving you what I have on Violet. But I _can_ tell you how the money system works, how she hides it – but that’s it.”

Ginny looks to Blip. Blip considers it for a while and then nods.

“How do you know?” Blip says.

She smiles. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Because I’ll have to arrest you, won’t I?” Blip deduces. “Because you – you helped develop it?”

Cara sighs. “I can’t say that I did, or didn’t.”

Ginny wonders how he figures this out so quickly. She makes a mental note to pay more attention to the way he does detective work.

Cara pulls out her phone and opens the app. She explains how the payment gateway works in a whole lot of technical jargon that she doesn’t get but it seems that Blip does. Ginny can see he’s happy with the knowledge. She can almost imagine his brain cogs in motion, working out a plan.

He thanks Cara at the end of it and gives her his number in case of an emergency. He even drops her to the bus station and pays for her fare to Los Angeles.

“Keep your head down.” Blip instructs her as he drops her off at _The Club._ “Put up with Vincent quietly and don’t attract any attention to yourself.”

Ginny nods. She eyes Blip with worry and then asks. “Are you okay, Blip?

The tension doesn’t show on his face but she can see it in his body language.

“Yeah, I’m tired too, Ginny. ‘S all.”

It only occurs to her right then – how much weight he carries on his shoulders. Keeping an investigation like this under the radar, dealing with superiors, covering for their screw-ups, watching out for everyone’s safety, juggling his home and work life.

“That woman is responsible for a lot of crime in San Diego. The sooner we get Violet Gleason in jail, the safer our city will be.”

She whole-heartedly agrees.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The Padres had a particularly good run at Petco, beating the Cardinals in all three out of the four home games. Sonny Evers pitched a beautiful game giving up only 1 run in his six innings with nine outs. A pitcher, Ginny knows all too well, is only as good as their catcher and Lawson was far too good a catcher. Mike also gave them a great offensive advantage with two home runs at bat.

She thinks about calling him to congratulate him, but she doesn’t.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“ _Baker_.”

It’s Blip.

“Margie.” She mumbles mechanically, yawning loudly as an expression of her dissatisfaction. Blip knows she’s not a morning person. So what if it’s almost noon.

“ _No_.” He says, definitively. “ _It’s Baker_.”

Her eyes snap wide open, like he’s hit some sort of activation button. She jumps up and scrambles off the bed.

“Report to the precinct in two hours.” He says. “We’re going to HQ.”

_HQ?_

She checks the time, her shift at _The Club_ starts in about five hours. She calculates the time to and fro and doubts it she’ll make it. “I have to be at my place of work in…”

“…in _two_ hours.” He completes her statement

 _Oh crap._ Two hours isn’t enough for her to collect her stuff.

“Okay.”

“And Officer Baker?”

_Oh dear._

“Sir?”

“Wrap up Margie.”

 

 

Usually when she goes into a precinct, Duarte waits for her at a distance a few blocks away in a camera-free zone. He cuffs her and escorts her through the detainee zone, makes a big show of seating her in holding, finally takes her for meetings with superiors in abandoned interrogation rooms.

It’s a solid precaution, an invention of Blip’s genius and Ginny doesn’t think less of it; keeping her identity secret was paramount.  Their last two ops failed because of leaks in the department and one of them came at a high cost of an honourable policewoman’s life.

She’s programmed herself to expect the same routine this time except Duarte calls her to the parking lot of the precinct. He’s waiting on her next to his car, in a formal suit – and tie, the badge visible on his belt and a plastic dry-cleaning bag looped over an arm containing a police uniform.

Hers.

Duarte is a strikingly handsome man when he’s all scruffy and greasy, but clean-shaven, wearing that crisp suit and tie, he’s a head-turner. Even the stern-faced policewoman at the front desk bats her eyelashes at him.

“Lookin’ fine, Detective Duarte.” She whistles.

“Thanks, _Mamacita_ , you too.” He flashes her a charming smile. “You wanna let my partner through.” He motions towards Ginny.

It’s strange, hearing Duarte recognize her as his ‘partner’ in front of others, not as a ‘perp’ or a ‘suspect’.

The officer turns to her, looks at her, doubtingly, taking in her shabby appearance. Ginny squirms under her scrutiny.

Duarte drops some items in the tray then.   

Ginny gapes at her badge, afraid to acknowledge it as her own. That apprehension is only reminder that she has been under far too long.  

Then he drops some cards in. _Hers_.  IDs and access cards. Everything bearing the same photograph of her. A passport-size photo, taken in her dress uniform just after she was sworn in three-years-ago.  She smiled too wide for that shot, her dimples propping her toothy gummy smile, her eyes too bright, too twinkly – full of youthful zeitgeist.

That _Ginny_ doesn’t really look like a rookie cop in that photo. She looks like a teenager dressed up in a Halloween costume. Wide-eyed, wet behind the ears, too green. If the photo had been full length, Ginny’s convinced she would find a baseball glove and ball clutched behind _that_ Ginny’s back. 

The policewoman at the desk checks all the credentials and then gives her a bright welcoming smile. Ginny finds it weird - she’s become so accustomed to suspicion and derision by uniforms.

Duarte directs her towards the women’s locker room. He takes her duffle off her shoulders, hands her all her stuff and the key to a locker.

 _Her_ locker.

The locker room is empty. She figures they timed her return in the middle of a day shift, limiting the chances of other policewomen hanging around their lockers. Nevertheless, she’s skittish even as she steps into the common shower, constantly jumping at the slightest of sounds and wrapping her arms around her body protectively. 

The first thing she sees when she opens her locker is a sepia-toned picture of Jackie Robinson. Right next to his, is Mike Lawson, not the gruff, hairy sex-god with a marshmallow heart who had her orgasming three ways from Sunday but the Mike on her teenage bedroom wall - beardless, lean, chocolate boy, looking into the sky like he’s knocked it out of the park – that cocky, ‘in your face, bitch’ smile on his youthful face.

She runs her fingers over picture and smiles.

Her uniform feels strange to her after months of not wearing it. She touches it hesitantly, afraid that it’ll crease if she handles it carelessly. The material feels itchy and forbidding. Her belt feels heavier than it should. Her uniform shoes feel odd on her feet.

Her duty rig adds more weight around her hips. She shuffle the items around, trying to recall what goes into which pouch. She checks her tie pin, name tag and belt about five times. Her hair is longer than regulation length, so she wraps it into a proper bun.

She palpates the gold edges and blue embossing of her badge with trembling fingers. She thumbs her badge number with the same apprehension she felt when they first gave it to her. She hasn’t had to use it in the past several months and even though she keeps it on her person, it’s always hidden. Never on display. She clips it on her person, in the assigned place.

Then she shoves on her uniform hat to give herself a final once over in the full-length mirror.

_Not Margie._

There’s an image of a uniformed officer of the SDPD with a name tag: _Baker_ over her breast pocket. She looks like Ginny Baker but –

_Not Ginny, either._

She shakes it off, that feeling - whatever _it_ is.

 

 

Duarte smiles at her brightly when she emerges. He hands her a holster with a gun she hasn’t seen in ages -  her primary police-issue firearm. She thumbs the handle for a second before clipping it on to the belt. He hands her the extra magazines, the radio, the taser, the baton. Things she identifies with cops – things that are supposed to be hers - things she can’t relate with anymore. 

Blip is waiting on them, outside. He’s dressed in formals, just like Duarte, his goatee and moustache manicured to perfection.

“Now isn’t that a sight for sore eyes?” He says, beaming at her with pride.

 

 

She moves with hesitation. Her chin down, steps tentative and shoulders hunched.

“It’ll wear off.” Blip tells her.

She looks up at him, reckons he’s been watching her fidget and fussing over her uniform the whole time; from the drive to HQ  to the ride up the elevators to the Assistant Chief’s office where Captain Bellamy is waiting on them. 

“I know it feels like someone else’s property after being under so long. Like it’s not yours. I felt that every time. It’s just jitters.” He reassures her.

“I never feel no jitters when I come out from under.” Duarte answers smarmily beside her.

“You’re an arrogant little shit with entitlement syndrome.” Blip retorts.

Ordinarily she would have laughed at their banter but Ginny’s too nervous to register it. Nonetheless, Blip’s encouragement helps. She walks with more confidence when they are called into the office, her chin tilting upwards with each passing moment.

Ginny is not accustomed to high praise. And, she’s never met with an official higher than the Captain. She can’t be blamed for feeling restless when the Assistant Chief and head of Investigations looks at her with pride and admiration she’s not prepared to deal with.

She twitches the whole time in her seat, getting dirty looks from Blip and disapproving glowers from the Captain. She laughs a little too loud at the Chief’s horrendous jokes, wonders if he notices that. Duarte keeps smirking amusedly, having a silent laugh at her expense.

Then they explain the game plan to her. About the joint task force. About raid they’re organizing with the FBI and the DEA together. How it’s going to be top secret, everything on need-to-know. How it’s not going to happen overnight because timing is everything. He promises her that they won’t let her hard-work go to waste. In the interest of keeping her identity secret until the arraignments, she won’t be a part of the apprehending task force. She’s also introduced to a sergeant who will personally supervise her transition back into active duty.

“We’re recommending you for the advanced tactical course. It’ll help you re-orient – and give you a little leg up in your SWAT application.” The Assistant Chief says.

She blinks.

“You’re not happy with that?”

“I guess…” She hesitates. “I’m sorry, Sir. It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“You’ve been through hell and back, Baker.” He smiles at her. “I’ll allow a little stupid.”

“I always imagined I’d be the one cuffing Violet.” She snorts. “An idle fantasy, Chief.”

“No, it’s not. We’ve all been there.” He smiles with understanding. “It’s how you get through the day, right? Planning the take down of your Fish, wanting to see the look on his - _her_ face when you have ‘em in cuffs.” He sighs. “But – the thing about this is, it doesn’t just end with the arrests. Violet’s not just rich, she’s powerful. She’s also well connected – and if something happens to you, the case against her goes down in a puff of smoke. Your safety is paramount.”

She understands that.

Also, it will be Evelyn’s first major trial and if it goes down because Ginny wants petty bragging rights on a collar, Violet’s goons won’t be able to kill her - Evelyn Sanders will get there first.

 

* * *

 

She wants to call Mike right away, but she knows she can’t. Thankfully he’s already on a plane to St. Louis for the away games.

Blip insists on her staying with his family till she gets her own place. She vacated her apartment before going under. Most of her stuff is in storage. Even, if she is off from active duty, she can’t fly home to meet Will because of the post-operation follow-throughs. Blip, Duarte and she have to make multiple trips a day to Division and HQ together. So, it makes sense.

She also suspects Blip’s ulterior motive is to keep an eye on her mental and emotional health.

Her week goes by quickly, consumed by multiple debriefings and the physical preparations for re-certification. Blip updates her of the progress on the take-down. The Feds are brought in. Things are planned. She aces re-certification with flying colours, as always. She even beats Duarte at the shooting range, impressing the heck out of the sergeant. She gets called in for meetings, becomes the object of pensive scrutiny by a lot of suits. She _tries_ to answer all their questions. She _tries_ to give them her opinion on matters, hoping they’ll take it seriously. She _tries_ to place her trust in the people involved. It gets difficult at times not to ask many questions, not to wonder if they’re accidentally roping in a mole. She _tries_ not to think about it too much.

She spends the evenings watching TV and playing games with Blip’s boys, Gabriel and Marcus. She occasionally hangs out with her old friends from the precinct. On the night Blip goes to bed early, she and Evelyn stay up. They talk about stupid things like the recent round of gossip at the precinct and who’s sleeping with who at the DA’s office.

By the time the _Padres_ are back for their series of home games, she’s sent for a three-week advanced tactical training course which proves to be a welcome change.

It’s like baseball camp. Physically demanding with a jam-packed schedule - something that Ginny can relate to. It helps her deal with, sort through and compartmentalize her emotions. It empowers her, helps her feel like she’s part of a greater whole, part of a team, helps her reconnect with the responsibility she took on when she swore the oath, three years ago.

Her days roll by in a blur and nights merge into one. The only way she keeps a track of date and time is by keeping tabs on the baseball season. Trade deadlines come and go, a lot of players she admires get shuffled around the country, bounced between clubs and leagues like they're ping-pong balls. The _Padres_ pummel through the home and away games with some sort of uncanny vendetta. Mike Lawson is the name on everyone’s lips. If anyone had any doubts about his competency before, his performance this season leaves things perfectly clear, with talk of the  _Padres_ chances at making the play-offs.

The nights are tough. She sleeps fitfully. Sometimes she wakes up in the dead of the night, stuck in Margie’s body, confused and agitated. Sometimes she dreams of her former partner, the gory sight of her dead body lying on the morgue table, and Ginny wakes up with an overpowering sense of guilt and failure. Sometimes she wakes up, hyperventilating - having seen Pop, having relived the accident.

Some nights, she dreams of Mike – those, are the easier nights.

Sometimes she doesn’t sleep, lays awake thinking of him, fighting the urge to call him. Sometimes, she touches herself imaging his mouth on her neck, his touch on her skin, his body joined with hers. She weeps silently into the pillow when she comes off the high. She doesn’t dwell too much on how risky it is to feel this way about someone -  about _him_.

She keeps thinking that this feeling will wear off. That the urge to talk to him with fade with time. It doesn’t. It becomes easier to handle but it doesn’t weaken.

She plays with the cheque leaf - looks at Amelia’s signature when it gets unbearable. She plays out a scenario in her head over and over: How Amelia tells him about Margie’s history. How Amelia tells him that Margie took the cheque. How Amelia deals the final defining blow, the: I-told-you-so. Some variant of: “See Mike, she was just after you for your fame and fortune. She’s not even an A-list groupie. She’s just your garden variety gold-digger, a wannabe WAG.”

How - if Mike feels something more than lust, he’s disappointed, moves on to the next groupie. How, if he feels something less that lust, he shrugs it off, moves on to the next groupie. How, if it’s just lust, he goes back to pining for his wife, moves on to the next groupie.

It’s a presumptuous and self-harming coping mechanism, she knows – but it’s the only way she can safeguard her emotions.

Either way, _Margie’s_ connection with Mike doesn’t come out to light. _He_ is safe. _Ginny’s_ identity is safe. The undercover operation that she’d been on for _eleven_ months is safe.

Win-fucking-win.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Ginny returns to work the week prior to the All-Star game. Duarte picks her up from the training centre. He tells her that she’s been posted on special duty in Vice, in Blip’s task force.

“Plainclothes, Mami.” He says, like she’s won the lottery. 

Ginny is a little disappointed.

She pulls on a crisp navy-blue jacket in the morning over formal blouse and trousers that morning.  The mirror gives a welcome picture. She clips her badge and gun holster on one side of the belt, hidden by the lapel. She does not look like a bambi-eyed, wanna be starlet wearing slutty clothes to attract attention. She preens a little, filled with confidence. She feels professional.

_Not Margie._

But…

_Not Ginny, either._

The uniform was an identity, not just for the public, but for her as well. Slipping out of Margie and realigning herself into that of a police officer is tough as it is, for some reason she feels like she’s betraying Margie. Half the time she feels like she’s being forced to peel of her Marige-skin and stick unfamiliar plastic on the raw, exposed flesh. Even though, Margie’s skin never felt like hers in the first place.

Ginny hoped that having to wear a uniform daily would help her through that transition.

If she’s neither Margie, neither Ginny, then who the fuck is she?

 _You’re a ballplayer, rookie._ A hallucination, speaks - from a dream.

She shakes it off, that feeling – whatever _it_ is.

 

Her first day is filled with awkwardness.

The old lieutenant that she worked under, retired. The new lieutenant is made aware that she was a UC, straight from the academy and didn’t go through routine probationary period like the other cops. He gives her a stern lecture on how she should not expect special treatment, and she should remember that even if she’s been a cop for three years, she’s still a rookie in many ways.

Between her special duties on Vice, she’s supposed shadow a middle-aged uniformed senior officer named Noelle Best to get acquainted with the beat. Noelle is a take-no-prisoners type, no-nonsense woman who has a reputation for being a draconian TO.

Ginny braces for the worst, but Noelle goes surprisingly easy on her the first day.

“I was also recruited as a UC operative straight from the academy – no probation, nothin’” She tells her at the end of her shift.  “Got back into the beat after two years. Life on the street is a whole other ball game. Took me a while to get acclimatized. My sergeant thought I was a loser. I didn’t know how to do a lot of things that other cops two years in did.”

Ginny keeps her bravado to herself, follows Noelle’s orders, takes pointers from her style of dealing with civilians and suspects alike. She chases down a purse snatcher, tackles and arrests him in the middle of the street on the second day without much effort.  A visibly impressed Noelle, decides she likes her well enough to give her a hard time, thereafter. She works Ginny way too hard, but Ginny loves it. It’s nice to have a female superior to look up to.

It doesn’t help with her disconnection with who she is, though.

_Not Margie, Not Ginny, either._

She shakes it off, that feeling too – whatever _it_ is.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny thought being an officer on special duty meant she’d get to see upfront what the detective end of Vice was like. As it turns out she spends all the time filling out Duarte’s paperwork along with hers, while he flirts shamelessly with all the women on the floor. 

She still hasn’t found an apartment so she decides to room with Duarte till she does.

Something she realizes later, wasn’t the wisest idea. She’s a mystery to most of her co-workers as it is and the fact that she gets along so easily with the poster child of arrogance, the resident bad-boy of the precinct a.k.a. Detective Duarte – it makes fodder for speculation that they’re sleeping together.

“But I’m not!” She complains to him.

“Relax, Mami.” Duarte tells her.

“I’ve had at least three women ask me how you are in bed!”

“Which three?” He looks around.

“Two rookies and one detective.”

“Really.”

“I’m not telling you who.”

“Did you at least tell them I’m good?”

“And how am I supposed to know that?” She folds her arms.

“Can’t you hear the _chicas_ having fun?”

God help her she can. The screaming noises that come from his room could either be orgasms or torture. If she didn't see the _chicas_ and their sated smiles, the next morning, drinking _her_ coffee, she’d assume it was the latter.

“Gaah.” She makes a gesture of strangling him. “I’m beginning to see why no one likes working with you.” She flings a file at him. “Do your own damn paperwork from now on, would you?”

“Would you chill?” He hands her a sandwich. “See, I bought you lunch.”

She takes one bite of it, gets hit with the taste of soap and abandons it, hissing with frustration. They argue for about five minutes about the merits of cilantro. And as it always is with Livan, when he knows he can’t win an argument, he changes the topic.  

“Hey!” Livan winks at her. “Have you seen Lawson?”

She counts about five weeks since she’s spoken to Mike. Four since she was Margie.

“What do you think?” She retorts.

Duarte shows her a web edition of a press release. “He issued a statement this morning. An amicable separation - irreconcilable differences.”

“Sounds like Amelia Slater drafted it.” Ginny mutters, grumpily.

“Hey.” He says. “Chin up, Mami. She was talking to Margie, not you.”

“ _Ginny’s_ still an ordinary person, Papi.” She says.

 “No, Mami.” Duarte states. “Ginny’s no ordinary person. And if Mike Lawson can’t see that, if he’s an _idiota_.”

“He’s a celebrity athlete. They’ve groupies.”

“And you’re a cop – we got badge bunnies.”

Ginny huffs out a laugh.

“You really like him.” Duarte notes, smile fading. “It bothers you what he would think, doesn’t it?”

It does. She doesn’t want to admit that, so she doesn’t answer.

“Does he feel the same way?”

She doesn’t answer that, either – this time, because she has no clue.

Duarte’s face tips a little. “Even if he does, if he’s really getting over his wife and all – you really think there’s relationship potential?”

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon Mami.” He says. “He’s professional ballplayer. Forget the fame and the celebrity, you know what his life is like better than any other person. Do you think he’ll be able to handle your life? You _are_ a cop.”

She doesn’t tell Livan that she never feels like one. She doesn’t tell Livan that she feels like a not-Margie but a not-Ginny as well.

She shakes it off, that feeling – whatever _it_ is.

 

* * *

 

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asks Noelle.

“No.”

“Okay.”

“But after you buy me lunch, maybe.”

So, Ginny buys her lunch first. Noelle gulfs down the sandwich and then tells Ginny she can talk.

“Duarte says, that most men can’t handle policewomen as girlfriends or wives.”

“So?”

“Is he right?

Noelle snorts. “Sometimes. No, actually – most of the time. When a policeman jumps into the face of danger, they’re deemed brave, girls go all weak in the knees and dreamy eyed. Not the same for women. When women jump into the face of death, we’re called stupid and reckless.  Boyfriends, even husbands, tend to feel emasculated.”

That doesn’t help Ginny’s mopey mood.

“But, in my opinion, it is good if that’s the case.” Noelle says. “If you find out a guy can’t handle it. Helps you weed them out faster. _Real_ men, do not find a strong woman intimidating. If you’re smart, know your worth and be patient, finding such a man isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“It’s _our_ job.” Noelle says. “The hours – the life. The transfers, the shifts, the mental and physical stress. Every cop walks out on the street with a target on his or her back. Makes it tough on our kids, on our husbands, on our social lives. Then there’s the things you have to sacrifice at home for your career, the things you have to sacrifice in your career for your family. That’s the problem. Policemen have it a lot easier. A lot of their spouses are stay-at-home wives and moms. Very few policewomen have stay at home husbands. Then too, men who are secure enough to accept the role.”

“How does your husband cope with it?”

“My husband’s a cop. Not that it makes juggling things easier. It comes with its own fair share of problems but at least he knows the life.” Noelle says. “What about you? What’s your guy do?”

“I don’t have a guy.”

“You wouldn’t be asking me all this if you didn’t have a guy.”

“Well, I don’t know if my guy is really – “ She gives a lopsided smirk. “Like – _my_ guy.”

“Oh honey,” Noelle shakes her head. “That’s a whole ‘nother problem.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Karma is a bitch. There’s no doubt about it.

It’s inevitable that tampering with a police investigation to exempt your childhood idol from incarceration was going to come back and bite her in the ass at some point.

Blip calls her on the phone while she’s down at the shooting range, tells her a friend of his needs a favour. 

_"It’s off the record. I might need you and Duarte both on this. He’s here. Can you come?"_

She gets back to Blip’s desk, doesn’t find him there. When she looks around, she spots Blip’s shiny head through space between the drawn blinders of the coffee room. She presumes his friend has arrived and they’re talking.

The door of the coffee room swings open, frantically and noisily. A panicked Duarte hurries out. He looks pale enough to have seen a ghost. His eyes meet hers instantly.  They are filled with alarm - very unlike Duarte.

Blip lingers at the door with a smile directed in her direction that’s more social than professional. He motions for her to come.

“Mami!” Duarte hisses, gesturing at her to come by his desk as she cuts across. He shuffles around his messy desk like he's pretending to be searching for something. Makes a big show of finding his pocket notebook.

“What?” She whispers, signalling to Blip that she needs a minute. She pretends to be smoothing out her jacket and fixing her lip gloss.

Blip doesn’t give her his usual disapproval face for dallying.

“Did you know Blip was in the minors?” Duarte mumbles.

“What minors?”

“Minor league baseball?” Duarte almost growls.

“Yeah?” She says, putting her stuff away. “I think for - maybe - a season or two after college? Before, he became a cop. Why?”

“Did you know he was _friends_ with your _boyfriend_?” Duarte bites out.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She frowns confusedly, patting her jeans.

“Yo Baker! Get over here already!” Blip calls to her. “I've got a surprise for you.”

Duarte cuts in front of her, almost as though he’s trying to shield her. “Brace for impact, Mami.”

 

One of her favourite fantasies in the past few weeks was imagining the ways in which she’d reveal her identity to him, regardless of how he would react. She imagined going over to his house in uniform, she imagined going to him as Margie and showing him her badge. She imagined just calling him and telling him over the phone. She imagined arresting Amelia Slater just for the heck of it, so she could have him come in and bail her out.

She did not imagine _this_.

Blip is smiling ear-to-ear at her as she heads inside. She follows Duarte, polite smile ready. It falls flat the minute she sees him.

 _He_ looks tanned since from when she saw him last. He’s chewing on gum, sitting on the couch of the coffee room, posture relaxed, arms stretched across the backrest, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans.

Her heart rate doubles, her palms feel sweaty and she feels a flush coming on when her eyes fall on his beard. It seems a little longer than the last time she saw him, but maybe that’s her imagination.

Her throat goes dry and her thighs clench instinctively.

There’s already a scowl on his face for some reason. Ginny sees that his eyes are latched on Livan.

“So, you already met Duarte...” Blip says, completely oblivious to her discomfort.

She watches Duarte smirk at him. “ _Si_.” He nods. “My father was a fan.”

Lawson’s mouth twitches with a wry smirk and he opens his mouth like he’s about to give a nasty retort, but then his eyes travel towards her. His jaw movements slow down and his mouth hangs half-open.

“That’s uh - my other partner…Officer Baker.” Blip grins. “She might want an autograph or a picture after we’re done. She’s your biggest fan.”

The confusion on his face is expected, as is the dawning realization.

Mike’s eyes widen fully, scanning her from the head down. Her neatly combed curls, her face stripped clean of makeup, save for eyeliner and lip gloss, her deep plum jacket, her fractal shaded blouse, down the length of jeans.  His eyes stay longer on the exposed gun and badge and move then back up. She resists the urge to blush under his sweeping gaze. 

She doesn’t know what to expect of herself when their eyes reconnect, but she’s positive the frivolous desire to jump and yell ‘yippee, it’s me’, wrap her arms around him and kiss him senseless is most certainly inappropriate.

She braces for the worst. She expects betrayal, shock, and disappointment.

Except, it doesn’t come.

She expects a lot of things -  that slow roll of his jaw, one eye squinting with intrigue and an amused half-smile...

...not so much.

“My _biggest_ fan you say, huh?” Mike’s beard lifts wider, his eyes shrinking under the apples of his cheeks, his voice filled with mock surprise.

“Am not!” She yelps, impulsively.

Blip and Duarte both turn to look at her like she’s crazy. “You have a picture of him in your locker, right here at the precinct.” Blip says.

Duarte starts sniggering by her side. She kicks his foot lightly.

Lawson notices it. A dark look crosses his face for a second and then it’s gone. He gurgles with a laugh. “In your locker?” He sighs like there’s some sort of awful idea running through his mind. “At _this_ precinct?”

“No, I don’t.” She bites back.

“Right next to Jackie Robinson.” Blip says.

“Jackie Robinson!” Lawson claps over his chest, mocking astonishment. “I’m touched. Boy, I’d love to see that. I don’t think I’ve seen a _real_ police officer’s locker before.”

“And, she only talks about you ten times a day.” Blip sniggers, mistaking her discomfort for shyness.

“Not anymore.” She mutters, crossing her arms defensively and looking down.

“Guess it beats a poster on a wall, I guess.” Lawson says, eyes fixed on her, chewing the gum slowly. “I’ll bet you still carry a rookie card. Would you like me to sign it?”

Ginny’s eyes snap up at him. He grins wide, his tongue rolling the gum around.

“I don’t have your rookie card on me.” She states.

“Yeah, it’s in her purse.” Blip snorts.

She looks aghast at her traitorous senior officer and soon-to-be-dead former TO. He’s enjoying her discomfiture.

Lawson’s shoulders start to twitch.

“I threw it away.” She blurts. That gets him to stop.  “Someone told me…” She says slowly. “That it makes me look stupid.”

Lawson’s mouth spreads in that adorable grin again, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Duarte’s a catcher on our softball team. Reminds me of you – back in the day. Ginny’s quite the ballplayer too.” Blip praises.

“I’ll _bet_  - she’s a pitcher!” Lawson says, emphasizing on the words.

Blip looks taken aback. “Yeah – how- how’d you figure?”

He glances at her gun first, up again at her face. He tips his chin. “Seems the type.” He says.

“Erm – di-di-did you need us for something?” Ginny says to Blip. “Sir?”

Blip goes quiet for a bit, like when he collects himself. Then he gets his serious face on. “What he says, stays in this room.” Blip says, looking at them. “Are we clear on that?”

Duarte and her nod in unison. Something about the way they do that must irk Mike, because he grabs a tissue and spits his gum into it, loudly.

“Mike found these in the _Padres_ clubhouse two days ago,” Blip shows her a packet – that’s all too familiar.

It dispels the absurdity of the situation.

Ginny takes it to get a better look and sighs.

And then Duarte has to go and screw it up. “Found it, ah?” He comments. “Convenient.”

“I’m sorry?” Lawson replies.

“I mean – people just leave recreational drugs lying around your clubhouse.” Duarte taunts. “For you to pick up? Bring to the police?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lawson’s voice rises. His eyebrows cross and his forehead creases.

“Duarte!” Blip scolds.

“How do we know that’s not his?” Duarte snaps. Mike looks downright enraged. His glower doesn’t budge from Duarte’s face. He doesn’t even look at Blip.

Ginny turns a heated glare at Livan. He glares right back. She holds it until he backs down.

“I know whose it is.” Lawson grinds out, garnering her attention. “He’s been doling this out to my guys as a vitamin supplement. I put a stop to it as soon as I found out.”

He narrows his eyes at Duarte. “I’ve reported it to the higher-ups as well. He’s been suspended temporarily. They’re still debating what to do – the drug isn’t on the schedule yet.”

“So why are we here?” Duarte asks.

“Look, he’s a good kid.” Mike’s expression softens. “He says he’s being blackmailed by the dealer. Says he was being used as a mule. There were some really racy pictures of his honeymoon that his ex was going to sell to the tabloids – I mean, we thought it’d been dealt with. Luongo – our manager – he even bought ‘em. As it turns out his ex, she sold it to the dealer as well. That’s how this started – now the dealer’s threatening his life. Says that there’s people who’ll kill him if he stops.”

Blip nods.

“We all make mistakes, Blip.” Lawson says, his eyes jumping between her face and Blip’s. “You know what this life is like. He fucked up, big time – but he’s a good guy.”

Blip doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t know where else to go with this.” Lawson says. “It’s matter of time before the story breaks – once it does, if what his dealer says is true – “ A flash of nervousness hits his face, teeny vertical puckers between his eyebrows.  “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Ginny flips the packet and speaks. “This is Pas-“ She stops herself, glancing at Lawson. She points to a small stamp on the packet, shows it to Blip.

“This is – _his_.” She rephrases. Blip nods with understanding.

“Who’s ‘he’?” Lawson prods. That easy, innocent expression comes back to his face.

“That’s confidential.” She says.

“Confidential huh?” Mike drawls. “Sounds very - stealthy.”

She blushes when she realizes he’s giving her _that_ look again, the one that makes her want to _do_ stuff.

“The dealer is a person of interest in an ongoing investigation.” Blip says.

That has that jovial expression fading again. “So, there’s some merit to the threat?” Lawson says, looking worried.

“There’s a lot of merit to the threat.” Blip sighs. “But on the plus side, if your boy is willing to cooperate – it can help us take the dealer and _this_ …” He flaps the packet. “Off the street.”

“I can talk to him.” Mike says. “I’ll convince him.”

“You’re a good man, Mike.” Blip says.

“So, I’m told.” He replies, locking his eyes on her.

“Okay.” Blip says. “I need to speak to someone about this. Duarte on me. Baker, you wanna drive Mr. Lawson to Petco?”

“No.” She squeaks.

Blip stares at her. She smiles back, sheepishly.

“I wasn’t really asking.” Blip says, plainly.

“Why me?” Ginny squeaks.

Blip frowns at her. “Because _I_ say so? Because _I_ am your superior officer?”

“No, I mean – I’m sure he came in his own car.” Ginny shrugs, grinning too wide, trying to act cool.

“ _Uber_.” Mike smirks. “And I’d like to go home, actually.” He sighs and trumpets sarcastically. “Officer Baker. It would be my absolute pleasure, to get a ride with you in a real police car.”

“Technically, it’s his car.” Ginny points to Duarte. “Why can’t he do it?”

“Nah -ah – I uh got shit to do.” Duarte shrugs, he pulls keys out of his pocket and tosses it to her.

“And I don’t?” She hisses, catching them instantly. “I’ve got – paperwork.”

“You hate paperwork!” Duarte declares.

“You so do _not_ have shit to do!” She returns.

“Hey! Knock it off.” Blip bellows.

They make identical faces at each other and fall silent. Blip narrows his eyes at the two of them and glances at Lawson and then back at them.

“Am I missing something here?” Blip asks her and Duarte.

Neither of them speak.

“So, _Officer_ Baker.” Lawson drawls. “Do you want my autograph? I’d be happy to sign your rookie card as well. You know, what I _would_ love? I would _love_ to see that picture in your locker.”

“It’s old.” Ginny retorts.

“Actually,” Lawson smirks. “I would _love_ to take a selfie as well, but front cams on phone these days, they just switch to video automatically when I try.” He feigns a thoughtful expression. “I wonder if it’s my face.”

Ginny and Livan exchange a glance.

“Maybe, it’s the beard.” Ginny snipes. Blip snaps his head at her silently rebuking her for her insolence.

Lawson throws his head back and hacks out a laugh. That booming laughter evokes fuzzy, flirty feelings in her. Ginny feels her nipples go stiff.

“Aww…give it time, _Officer_.” Mike drawls, narrowing his eyes at her seductively. “I’m sure you’ll love the beard.” He lifts one corner of his mouth in a lopsided smirk.

Duarte snorts. When she looks in his direction, she finds him shaking his head with frank disapproval.

“Is there something you two wanna tell me?” Blip asks, his gaze sharply focussed on her and Duarte.

“Nope.” Ginny squeaks.

“Nada.” Duarte says simultaneously. He opens the door and disappears before she can stop him.

“Get going, Officer Baker.” Blip orders her. 

She nods.

“I thought you’d be more excited, seein' as how he's your all-time favorite player an' all…” Blip mumbles as he crosses her.

“Eh heh heh. I am.” She brays. “Yay.”

That doesn’t do much for Blip’s glower.

 

 

“What’s this?” He points to the radio.

“Don’t touch that.”

“Okay. What’s that?” He points to the on-board computer.

“Don’t touch that.”

“Okay. What does this do?” He points to the PA system.

“Don’t touch that.”

“Is that a camera?” He points to the mirror cam. “Does it face forward or backwards.”

“Don’t touch that.”

“Okay. This come with the car or do you guys get it installed?” He rattles the grill behind them.

“Don’t touch that either.”

“Can I touch your badge?”

“No.”

“What about your gun?”

“Nope?”

“Can I touch anything?”

She doesn’t look at him. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s police property that’s why.”

“But I’ve never been in a police car before.” He whines. Like, all out literally _whines,_ like a five-year-old. This full grown – _bear_ …with his perpetually unhappy face and snark - whining.

Ginny’s angry. At least – she’s supposed to be. She’s just, sort of, finding it like ten different levels of cute. That’s all.

“What about you?” He says, then. “Can I touch you?”

Ginny snaps her head to him. He’s all big grins and crinkly eye-corners.

“I will cuff you to that grill if you touch me.” She bites out.

His face goes blank, comically. “Okay.” He sounds like he believes her.

She pinches her mouth and looks straight.

He makes a lot of sighing sounds and then it starts again. “You know – you drive really slow for a cop.”

She purses her mouth to stop herself from answering.

“I thought officers wore uniforms and detectives wore – like regular stuff.”

She stays silent.

“Seriously, why do you drive so slow? Who’s gonna pull you over? You?”

She bites back her laugh, stays silent.

“Oh – oh – you’re gonna give me the silent treatment now? Is that how it’s gonna be? Fine. Fine.”

She doesn’t respond.

“You know – _I’m_ the one who should be mad at you.”

She keeps quiet.

“I mean – you just disappear. Not one phone call for – what? A month? No good luck kisses? I’m – I should be offended. You know what? I _am_ offended. I am… _outraged_.”

She mums her lips and finding it difficult to hold back her smile.

“Is this the siren?” He reaches for a switch.

She smacks his hand. “Don’t touch _anything_!”

“Ow! Geez, fine.” He snatches his hand, nurses it.

She breathes in and huffs out.

“So,” He sighs, his voice turning serious. “You’re a cop. For real.”

“Yeah.” She sighs.

“And – what was Margie?”

“Margie – was and still is - a cover profile.”

“So – what? You’re like Don Johnson on Miami Vice?”

“The official unit name is Permits and Licensing.” She says. “But yeah – “ She smiles at him. “Something like that.”

“Cover profile, _Jesus_!” He echoes and then falls silent.

“So how does it work?” He says, after a while.

“I can’t tell you that – not yet.”

“Of course, you can’t.” He says softly. “So, are you still – Margie?”

“I’m out.” She says. “I came out about four weeks ago.”

“Four weeks, why didn’t you-?”

“I couldn’t,” she says, “This isn’t like how it is in the movies, Mike. Things take time. And the operation I was on – still on as a matter fact – is critical.”

“So, you didn’t trust me enough to keep my mouth shut?”

“ _You_ , I trust.” She says. “There…are people around you that…” She starts to say slowly.

“Amelia.” He understands instantly. “She tends to be a little impulsive with her whole Mama Bear routine.”

“It isn’t just her.” She says.  “If anyone suspected me at the club – your life would be at risk, too.”

“How long were you…?”

“Almost eleven months.”

“ _Eleven_ months?” He exclaims. “Geez!” He falls silent then - “I’ve gotta admit, I’m relieved.” He says, exhaling. “I thought you were –“

“Some sort of con-artist?” She smiles.

He glances at her in the rear view mirror. His ears turn pink. “A Russian Spy.”

“A Russian spy?” She bursts out laughing. “Why?”

“I don’t know – I just – I guess I’ve been binge watching ‘ _The Americans’_ too much.”

She chuckles loudly and shakes her head.

“But that’s not what I meant. I was worried about you. I was worried you were hurt – or worse. And then…”

“And then?”

“Look, I know Amelia can be really persuasive.” He says. “Did she come to you?”

Ginny nods.

“Did she offer you cash? She does that – ”

“A cheque.” Ginny says.

“That was – not nice of her.” He says, looking unhappy. “I should talk to her.”

“Right now, you’re not going to say anything.” She shouts. “Especially to her. Do you understand me?”

He doesn’t reply. When she glances at him, he nods.

“Besides –“ Ginny drops her voice. “She only wanted to protect you. I can’t really hold that against her.”

She glances at him when he doesn’t say anything. He appears to be ruminating over it.

“I didn’t encash it,” she jokes, “don’t worry.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” he says, taking her seriously. “If you were after money you’d have taken it that first night.” He frowns. “What was that about anyway?”

“That was sting operation.”

“For what?”

“Solicitation.” She says.

“ _Jesus Christ_!” He shouts.

Ginny shrugs her eyebrows.

“Is that why you refused to take the money?” He says, after a shocked silence.

“If you had given it to me – I’d have to arrest you. Sex or no sex.”

“Fuck!” He whispers. “You’re saying that – if I hadn’t – if we had – if you hadn’t –“ She glances at him and sees the freaked out look on his face, as he strings his words. “You’re saying I would be in jail right now, Baker. Isn’t it?”

“Heavily fined as a first-time offender – if your lawyer was good.”

“But everything – my career, my life – _everything -_ would be done.”

She doesn’t say anything. She pulls the car up in front of his house. He pulls out his phone and taps in something. The gate unlocks and slides open automatically.

“Why?” He asks, just as she parks in the driveway.

“Why what?” She asks, unbuckling her seatbelt and turning towards him.

“Why didn’t you just take the money and arrest me?” He asks, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Why give me that chance? You didn’t know me. You didn’t owe me anything.”

She smiles at him and shrugs.

He looks at her intensely. “And then you got beat up." He says in a small voice. "So badly.”

“Yeah – it’s an occupational hazard. Not all perps are as nice as you.” She jokes.

He doesn’t laugh. If anything, his forehead wrinkles seem deep with worry.

“I shouldn’t have come to you that night – I was endangering you, in a way. I just…” She sighs. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“Ginny.”

“What?”

“I kinda missed you.”

She feels like a terrible ache has been eased in her heart. “I missed you, too, Old Man.”

“Will you come inside?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She says. “It’s not that I don’t wanna it’s just, if anyone finds out…”

“I have grape soda.” He says. “Actually – I have about five packs of it.”

She bursts out laughing.

“Oh, that horsey laugh.” He says.

Ginny looks at him and finds him grinning. “Horsey laugh?” She screws her nose. “Wh-what is that?”

“That _whoo-hoo-hoo_!” He mimics. “Y’know – I missed that.”

“Well, I missed your crankiness and eye-rolling and your backhanded compliments.”

“Yeah – what about the beard?”

“No.”

“Mmm?”

“Nope.” She purses her mouth and breaks into a grin when she can’t hold it anymore.

He reaches a hand out then, runs it over her hair, looking at her face. He pushes it away from her neck and runs his thumb along a spot below the angle of her jaw. She leans into his touch without thinking. Mike leans across the space between them and presses his mouth over it. He chafes his beard on it.

Ginny gasps.

“Not even a little?” He mumbles.

Ginny cups his cheek, strokes the downy hair on his face and tilts her chin.

He kisses her, deep. It’s everything she missed and longed for and more. A slow, sloppy kiss. He licks her tongue, the insides of her lip – even grazes his teeth on her nose. She moans, nips his mouth, runs the tip of her tongue along the hard roof of his mouth. The cut ends of his mustache and beard prick at her skin.

He traces her cheek, down her neck, skims his fingertips over the top buttons of her blouse. “I missed this.” He murmurs, breaking the kiss to catch his breath. She barely has time to suck in hers before his demanding mouth is on hers again. She whimpers and leans forward across the parking brake, somewhat aware that he’s unbuttoning her blouse. She whines into his mouth when his hand reaches inside and cups over her bra, pinching at her stiff nipple under the fabric. “I missed these.” He murmurs.

“God, I missed the way you taste.” He whispers against the corner of her mouth. Ginny’s mouth hangs open when he kisses his way down her neck, tugging the bra cups down. She purses her mouth when her breasts are exposed, she reaches her hand to scoop them out, letting them hang free over the awry fabric and underwire. His dark head hinders her view, but she feels the plump mounds being fit into the hollow of his palm. She gasps louder when he licks a hot, wet swirl over her nipple. His fingers make it to her belt. She angles her waist so he can loosen it, she cranes her pelvis so he can slide the zipper open.

She pushes her boob into his mouth.  He suckles - noisily. The smacking, the low pitched moans, the rackety breathing - they all sound greedy and perverse; too loud in the cramped space of the car. God help her she gets off on it. Her panties are sodden, already irritating her skin. She swallows, gazes at a large stain on the upholstered roof of the car, wondering of how Duarte managed that because – she just does.

“Mm….everywhere.” He murmurs, releasing her tender nipples. His mouth clamps over hers and his hands slips in the narrow space the open fly of her jeans affords. She sprawls out in the seat, pulling her knees out wide. She’s already hot, wet and restless down there, His hand wedging through her cotton panties feels like a reprieve.

“I missed the way you taste, _everywhere_.” He repeats, rubbing at her folds after licking her tongue. It's like he’s thinking aloud. He tears his mouth away, yanks his hand out and before she can bleat a protest, he licks off his fingers – licks _her_ off his fingers.

Ginny watches his actions in a bleary trance.

“Fuck, you always taste so good.” He mutters. His mouth on hers again, hands shoving swiftly down over the baby-smooth mound. Ginny props a boot on the dashboard and lifts her hips, she wriggles to match his touch. His kisses are fervent, lot of tongue and just enough teeth. He snakes his free arm around her shoulders, hugging her forwards twisting her at an angle that makes fucking down on his fingers easy and everything _else_ impossible.

Her ass teeters over the edge of the seat, the parking break jutting into one side, the sharp edge of her gun holster sticks up into the other side. The pointed edge of the keyboard panel of the computer scratches her calf. Ginny moans and writhes desperately, grappling onto his shoulders for support.

“You’re so tight…” He presses soft kisses on her lips between words. “…and hot…and wet…” He bites on her lower lip and tugs, painless.

 _Well duh_ \- but apparently, her voice box doesn’t work.

She’d have the sense to reach for his jeans, maybe return the favour, balance out all the sexy but – he’s not letting her focus on any one thing. Hot tongue in her mouth, fuzzy hair grating on her lips and chin, two fingers hooked inside, his thumb – or maybe it’s a knuckle digging at her clit.

But he’s still not done, he doesn’t let her climax.

Even when her phone rings, his hand is still trapped under her jeans, soothing her aching clit. He knee is stuck to the steering wheel, her foot is wedged between the windshield and the dashboard and he’s ghosting sweet kisses on the side of her face. 

She fumbles around for it – blinks away the sparks in her vision and peers at it. It literally quakes with her hand.

She gets a shaky thumb over the green button. “What?” She growls, holding back the moan when Mike strums her clit again.

 _“Where are you?”_ Duarte barks.

“I’m all the way across town.” She groans and looks at Mike pleadingly. He’s watching her with that maddening smirk. She reaches her free hand and slaps the bulge in his jeans. He coolly grunts and thrusts up under her palm.  

 _“What the fuck is taking you so long?”_ Duarte’s voice feels like it’s on stereo inside her ear.

“What do you want?”

_“I want my car back! I have to go to the courthouse.”_

“Well -it’s…” She gasps. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

_“My Abuella drives faster than you!”_

“Your Abuella drives faster than everybody!” She bursts, then squeaks when Mike adds pressure to her clit. “I just – I…” Her voice dies in her throat when she feels it being rolled around.

_“Lawson get off okay?”_

She’s ninety percent sure he’s asking if she dropped him off. 

“I’m getting there.” Ginny gropes his crotch tightly.

_“Getting there? You’re not there already?”_

Ginny huffs a laugh, her eyes meet Mike’s curious ones. He’s close to her face, she’s pretty sure he’s getting snippets of the other end.

“Nope.” She grins, puts some muscle into her actions.

_“You’re an inefficient driver.”_

Well. Mike’s face is red, he’s breathing hard and he’s groaning softly, so - she can’t be _that_ inefficient can she?

“If you’re so fucking efficient, why didn’t _you_ offer _your_ services?” She blasts back.

“I’m so glad he didn’t.” A whisper hits her other ear. Somehow the raspy timbre of Mike’s voice makes her clench again. She knows he feels it against his fingers, he quickens tracing the brim of her cunt in circles.

She wonders if Duarte heard him as well. Maybe there’s a duct from one ear to the other cutting right across her sex-mad brain because -  _“Are you okay? You sound winded.”_

She _is_ winded. She looks at Mike fiercely but he crooks his fingers in deeper. “I’m – okay.” She mewls.

Mike nuzzles her earlobe and whispers. “You’re more than okay, Baker. You’re so tight – you’re so fucking wet…and it's all for me, isn't it? Your tight, sweet little pussy is all mine, isn't it?”

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

_“Mami, you two better not be doing anything gross in my car. I just got the interiors spruced.”_

“Fuck!” She exhales, shaking her leg out from the dash because it’s cramping now. Duarte’s going to _kill_ her for that boot print.

_“What? What happened?”_

“Nothing. I um – I dropped something.” She swallows hard when Mike flutters his fingers. She squeezes his hard-on tightly and he hisses.

“I’m – I’m not doing anything in your car,” She talks into the phone. “Alright? Chill.”

Mike draws his head back and looks at her. He widens his eyes at her playfully, as if to say: ‘Really?’

He slips his fingers lazily, in and out. She grunts and squirms, thrusting rhythmically, that burning need to moan just clawing at her skin.

“You wanna come, don’t you?” He whispers in her ear.

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

 “L-l-look.” She stutters into her phone, just as Mike ducks his head and licks the skin behind her ear. Who knew that was a spot? She tucks the phone between her other ear and shoulder – because she needs to grab something. It gives him better access to her neck. He nips small kisses along the column of her throat, setting off small charges of heat and need. She slaps the bullet-proof glass of the window, her fingernails scrapping against it.

“Can’t you just – borrow a patrol car or something?” She whimpers, throwing her head back as she fucks down on his fingers.

Ginny _tries_ – to keep her breathing steady. She struggles - _not_ to gasp loudly. She fails.

Duarte’s silent for a while and then he speaks. _“If you two are doing it in my car, so help me god, I’ll…”_

At that point Ginny’s not even thinking about Mike’s dick. That hard bump in his jeans abandoned, her hand grips his arm. She digs her head back into the headrest and arches her spine out so forcefully, she’s worried it will fracture.

“We’re not doing it in your car –!” She growls.

Fuck, that didn’t come out right.

“We’re not doing _it -_!” She grunts out hurriedly, struggling to fight the whine that’s building in her belly

That didn’t come out right, either.

She cannot possibly come with Duarte’s voice in her ear. His is _not_ the voice she wants in her ear.

“- we’re…we’re…not doing _anything._ Period. So um – bye Papi.” She squawks, hangs up, throws the phone – somewhere. All in one breath.

Mike’s fingers freeze. They just – stop moving. They’re inside, she can feel the extreme edge of his fingertip up against her spot with a freaky precision – a reminder of how long and fat they are, just like his dick. 

Her neck trembles when she turns to look at him – _that’s_ how close she is. “Wh-Why do you have that stupid smile on your face?” She roars – because, yeah, there’s no filter between brain and mouth anymore.

“Because…we’re not – doing anything.” He says, pouting. If she couldn’t see how wide his pupils were blown, she’d think he was entirely unaffected, talking about the weather.

Ginny snarls. The need to chase her orgasm takes priority over everything. She tightens both fists. One on his shoulder, the other still grappling at a flat windowpane. She squeezes her eyes shut, gathers whatever muscle power she has and hurls it into her lower body. She bears down on his fingers. Once, twice – keeps going at it until her insides lurch, her lungs beg for more air and everything starts throbbing, again.

“ _Fuck!_ Ginny!” His quiet voice drifts around her. “You know, what I missed the most?”

And then he gives it to her – that rude sensation  _inside_ her body, the one that she craves: he pistons his fingers, rapidly.

His filthy whispers fill her ears, seep into her head, seep into her chest, seep into her belly. “I missed watching you come.” His voice is barely audible. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you come, baby? I’m gonna fuck you in front of a mirror and make you watch yourself come. You should see yourself, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful – so perfect – you gonna come for me, mm? You wanna come, mm? You wanna make me, make you come? Gin? Ginny?”

She wonders if he knows how ridiculous he sounds. It’s all too good – all too much.

And - her name sounds so right when he says it.

_Ginny, I’m Ginny._

Ginny keels off the edge with his name on her lips. She growls out, powerless and satisfied at the same time. A sweaty wave flaring out of her body, her cunt pulsing and seeping like it’s been hit with some sort of electric charge. She grunts and whines for a long time in throes of flashing lights and colours.

Her last thought before everything fades is how herself she feels with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noelle was a fav of mine on RB so I just had to put her in.
> 
> I'm sorry if the big reveal wasn't dramatic enough - i actually tried writing out a more movie-like scene but this one just felt right.
> 
> please feel free to tell me how underwhelming it all was.
> 
> Next chapter: smut, plot, hopefully the end if more smut doesn't get in the way.


	6. Integration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. so i was supposed to update on sunday but i got into this accident on my scooter. I'm good, nothing major. But ankle in a cast and my wrist was injured so I've been off my writing for a bit. Using transcriber for most things.  
> I know I've expanded the chapter count but last chapter will be up soon. editing is a slow process with one hand.  
> also i need to know how you feel about this chapter.  
> thank you for your reviews on the previous chapter. I'd thank you personally but i'm a bit sore on the wrist.

“I’m on duty…” She mumbles.

“Yeah.” He cups her bare bottom as she adjusts it over his bare thighs.

He hastily slips the condom on, hissing between his teeth as he slides up into her, filling her to the hilt.

“I missed this.” He whispers. “I missed _you._ So – so much.”

She wants to tell him that she missed him too, but – that dragging sensation he wreaks inside, the unbelievable warmth of having him sealing her up like that – it makes her want to crawl out of her skin. She nips and sucks little bites along his jaw, gets mouthfuls of facial hair on skin. She runs her tongue over his earlobe, takes it in between her teeth and tugs on it. He groans and laughs at the same time.

Ginny moans loud as the tension builds inside her, rocking her hips down, grabbing the seatback. Her underwear and jeans are bunched down to her ankles giving her room to spread her thighs, her bare knees dig into the bucket edges of the seat.  He grabs her knee before it hits the parking brake and sends the car sliding down on reverse down the slope of his driveway, keeps it locked in his grip.  He latches on to her nipple – she hums and moves faster. He arches his pelvis upwards thrusting furiously up into her.

It’s hot, fast, and urgent. They’re trembling, sweat trickles down their face and bodies. The temperature of the air between them and around them rising, their gasping and moaning echoing in the enclosure.

He slides forward still lapping at her breasts, changes the angle, brings his hand between them till his fingers connect with the stiffened nub

“That feel good?” He pants when he’s close.

It feels right – it feels like everything.

She answers by crying out, orgasming swiftly, ass slamming against the glovebox, arms flying up, palms flattening over the roof of the car.  When she looks at him, his eyes are wide open, locked on hers. They’re murky, pupils jacked, locked on to her face, with this consuming hunger in them. A guttural moan erupts from his throat with his hands gripping her ass tight enough for her to wince with pain. He comes like that, spilling into the condom, cum seeping between their thighs, eyes locked with hers.

So much for not doing it in Duarte’s car.

 

 

“Do you like it?”

“Mm?”

“Your job – what you do – for real?”

Ginny rolls onto her front to look at him. No shirt, jeans hang low over his hips, sexy hip grooves curving out, little hint of flab on his lower tummy, a triangle of fine hair, getting darker as it disappears under the waistband. Her mind flashes an image of his large dick, pushing snug inside her, pumping into her. Ginny blushes – nope, in fact, she blushes _and_ salivates, she reckons her vagina’s salivating too.

Since when did sex become such a _thing_ for her.

He hands her the phone – her phone, completely oblivious to the dirty images in her mind. She checks the phone with a lazy smile, satisfied that she hasn’t missed any calls or texts. Duarte’s _definitely_ on to what she’s been doing so he’s less likely to expect his car back before the night.

She barely remembers the mad dash from the car to the house. She somewhat recalls kicking the car door open, marching up the stairs to the patio, bra lopsided, blouse and belt hanging loose, undone jeans hastily pulled up over her hips, right there in the gleaming brightness of the afternoon sun with him stumbling on after her in a similar state, unbuttoned, unbuckled and unzipped.

The sex in his bedroom was languid. Their kisses her slow and passionate, hands and mouth roaming everywhere with an almost-reverent regard. It was about as right and as _everything_ as their frantic fuck in the car. 

It was in the afterglow that she mentioned that she’d forgotten her phone, not even as a complaint or a concern – rather, a casual remark. Mike didn’t even enquire. He merely rose off the bed, pulled on his jeans and fetched it for her along with the car keys.

 _Marshmallow heart,_ she thinks. She even plans to rag him about it but decides against it.

“I mean…” He clarifies. “…being a cop.”

So much for that bubble.

“Shit!” She reels. “ShitShitShit!”. Ginny scrambles off the bed collecting her clothes. “Papi’s going to kick my ass. I’m supposed to be back at the precinct by now!”

She overhears him repeat the word ‘Papi’ with a _‘tsk’_.

“What _is_ your problem with him?” She says, wiggling into her jeans. “You barely know him.”

“He likes you.”

“He’s my partner.” She declares. “I’d considered that a good thing.”

“But he _likes_ you – like…like _I_ like you.”

Ginny looks up at him from hooking her bra and sliding her arms into the strap. He’s staring at her, eye to eye, neither embarrassed nor bashful, forehead furrows at full mast. If she didn’t see warmth in his eyes, that brooding appearance would have her assume that ‘liking’ her was a terrible inconvenience.

“Even if he does, what does it matter?” She shrugs.

He scowls.

“Seems to me like you’re jealous.” She says, keeping a straight face, but the amusement tickles the corners of her mouth.

“Yes I am.” He doesn’t argue. This adorable sulky-face overtakes him. “And, he seems like the type… _you_ would like.” He grumbles.

“My type?” Ginny laughs, incredulous. “What – according to you is my type?”

He shrugs. “I dunno – Young? Hotshot...a real ass cop?”

Ginny’s body shakes with laughter as she buttons up her blouse. “Cops aren’t my type.”

“They’re not?” His face transforms into an equally cute, hopeful one. “How do you feel about ballplayers?”

“Er…” She says, twisting her mouth, trying to look serious as she slips her shoes on. “I actually used to have a code on that one.”

“What code?”

“That I won’t date ballplayers.” She shrugs, buckling her belt, checking her gun and badge.

He seems amused by that one. He flaps out her jacket, straightens out the sleeves and holds it up for her.

“Such a gentleman.” She teases, spinning around to slips her arms in, letting him slide it on to her shoulders. She fluffs out her hair as she turns to face him. He looks at her with fondness, tugs at the lapels and smooths the jacket down for her. He fingers the badge at her belt, doesn’t touch the gun.

He plops down on the bed and tugs her arm till she sits on his lap. He looks nervous, suddenly. “The safety’s on, right?” He taps the handle of her gun. “I mean, it’s – like - right there sticking into my balls.”

Ginny giggles and unclips the holster and puts the gun aside and them slips her arms around his shoulders.

“So, what is your type?” He asks her.

“Grumpy catchers with perpetual scowls and good hearts.” She winks and presses her mouth on his lips. “…and big dicks.” She pinches her lips as the sharp ends of his beard prick at her skin. He smiles wide.

“So, me then.” He crows, grinning wide.

“Actually…” She clucks her tongue, looking away in mock contemplation. “Duarte _is_ a catcher.”

His smile falls.

“And – I’m pretty sure he’s got a big…”

She shrieks when he swats her ass. She squeals with mirth when he flings her onto the bed on her side, hugs her tight from behind and tickles the side of her neck with his beard. Ginny can’t recollect when exactly he deciphered that point.

“Is he up on your teenage bedroom wall? Mm?” He mocks. “Or in your locker? Does he even _have_  a rookie card for you to carry around in your purse? Did your teenage heart beat and sigh for him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She huffs between peals of giggles. “My teenage heart didn’t beat and sigh for you…”

“Oh – okay.” He blows a raspberry into that spot.

She hoots and wriggles in his embrace, flapping her legs, struggling to get free.

“Okay! Okay! _And_ \- he doesn’t have a beard, either!” She sputters, between laughs, wiping away tears. “You’re good…so stop!

He releases her after nipping a small kiss at her jaw. “Told you, you love the beard.” He gloats, grinning at her stupidly. She catches her breath, puffing out the last few laughs and grins up at him.

“Hey, I wanna show you something.” He says, reaching for his phone. She twists as he taps the screen, sits up straight just as he sticks it in her face. “Found this.”

Ginny’s smile arrests.

It’s a professionally compiled scout video, clips of her try-outs, and various local games, including the junior-all-stars.

“That’s quite the screwball.” He says, sounding frankly impressed. “And you weren’t a one trick pony either – I mean all your off-speed pitches were a thing of beauty.”

Ginny watches herself on the screen, speechless.

He notices her face. “I thought…” He reddens. “You were really good. I mean, looks like there’s – there _was_ a lot of potential.”

She’s numb, if one is being specific.

“How’d – how’d you – where’d you?” She shakes her head.

“I uh – contacted the scout who  – ” He hesitates. “He kept it – all these years.” When she says nothing, he just taps the stop button and pulls the phone back. “Did I overstep, Baker? I didn’t think it would upset you.”

“They wiped it off the internet.” She says. “It – before I was sworn in. Security measures and stuff – especially for UC.”

“UC?”

Ginny takes the phone from his hand and replays it.

“Undercover.”

“How old are you – for real Gin?”

“I’ll be twenty-four this year.”

He looks amazed. “How long have you been doing this whole…undercover thing.”

“Three years now –“ She doesn’t tell him that they recruited her at the academy. She doubts he’ll understand the difference.

“Three years?” He exclaims. “Fuck! You were like – ! Jesus! You were a kid!”

Ginny’s eyes are glued to the video.

“So – have you always played – like – an escort?”

“Hookers. Mostly low level ones.” She answers, her tone of voice  about as inert and as hollow as she feels inside. “Junkies and low level dealers at times.”

“Is that what all UCs do?”

“No – some infiltrate local gangs, some infiltrate the mafia, some work as runners for drug rings. I was asked to do some of those, but Blip was against it. It’s risky business.”

“Have you ever had to – shoot or kill anyone?”

“No – not yet.”

He doesn’t say anything. When she glances at him, he’s looking at her with varying degrees of disbelief and disquiet. She feels uneasy.

“You got so badly beaten up that day, Gin.” He says, brushing his knuckles on her face, rubbing his thumb along the faint silver scar on her eyebrow. “I’m thinkin’ that’s not the worst you’ve seen.”

She doesn’t respond.

“What now? After this – mission or whatever you call it, is done. You plannin' to go back to being a UC?”

“No.” She answers definitively. “I’m done. “ She looks at him. She has no clue why she’s inclined to tell him the truth. “I’m moving out of Vice as soon as they let me. If they don’t accept my application for SWAT, I’ll just go on to being a regular cop. Maybe, I’ll take the detective exams.”

“SWAT?” He’s looking at her with wide, awed eyes.

She nods.

“You never answered my question.” He says. “Do you like it? Being a cop.”

She shrugs. “I guess.” She admits. “I don’t think about it too much.”

It’s a lie. She thinks about it all the time.

“You’re choosing your words carefully.”

How does he decode her so easy, she wonders.

“I am.” She doesn’t lie. “I mean – it has its pros and cons like any other job. It’s a great job. I get to serve my country and my city. But sometimes…it feels…” She trails off, unable to describe the vacant feeling in her chest.

She replays the video again. That Ginny seemed so different. Young, happy, oblivious to the darker side of humanity. But it wasn’t just youth or innocence, it was joie de vivre, love of the game, trying to live up to Pop’s expectations – belief in herself.

“What about that?” He taps at the edge of the phone. “What did that feel like?”

“Real.” She answers without even hesitating.

“And this doesn’t.”

“No, it’s not that it doesn’t feel real it’s just -” She starts off.

“I’m stating a fact, as I see it.” He says, interrupting her. He catches her fingers and rubs his thumb along the hardened edges, presses his fingernails into the tiny stubs of skin where the seams of a baseball scarred the most. “It’s not meant to be a question.”

She doesn’t know what to make of _that_ look on his face.

“I guess, taking on so many cover identities, trying to keep them real – make them believable.” She says. “It blurs the lines between what’s real and what isn’t.”

He nods at her.

She points to the video. “Life was simple there, out on that mound.” She sighs. “Study the hitter, see how you feel, think it over. Agree or disagree with the catcher’s call. Windup, set, release, follow through…” She looks up at him.

“I get that.” He nods.

She knows he does. If anyone can, it’s him.

“A robot in cleats.” He says, then. “What does that mean?”

She stares at him.

He picks at the stray stands of hair flying over her forehead and answers it himself. “I think it means what you told me the other night – after the party. You loved baseball with every fibre of your being, just like I did. Nothing but baseball made sense, nothing but baseball made you feel like _you_. It was wired into your muscles, programmed into your mind.” He points to the video. “But it also came from the heart. Baseball was real.”

She stays silent.

“I went to her – after she moved out – after you and I –met.” He says, a hint of sadness in the undertone, a greater measure of it in his beautiful eyes. 

He’s talking about Rachel.

“I showed up at her doorstep - _my_ doorstep, in LA.” He scoffs. “I bought that house for her. I damned nearly went on my knees begging her to take me back.”

Mike pauses to stroke the pitching calluses on her fingers, she notices that he doesn’t dwell much on the gun-coarse ones on the heel of her palm.

“Rachel always said that baseball came first for me. That – I was never there for her, that it was the reason she –“ He trails off, sighing long and hard. “…fell out of love with me.”

Ginny reaches her free hand to stroke his beard.

“She was my best friend.” He whispers. “And…being a sports reporter and all -  she understood the life, so I always assumed she’d adapt. I don’t really know when she stopped being happy.”

His head hangs low, his shoulders droop. He thumbs her calluses with more force, like he’s trying to cling to the coarse patches of skin for comfort.

“Now, I wonder if she ever understood it.” He breathes. “If she ever understood me.”

Ginny wants to cry when he looks at her. There’s a hollow brokenness in his eyes. The longing, heartache and grief she sees, catches her in the diaphragm, like a hundred-miler fastball hitting her in the gut.

“It’s more than just wins and trophies, Baker.” Mike utters. “I have no legacy to speak of, no championship wins, no World-Series ring, maybe I’ll make it to the Hall of Fame as a would-have-been. But none of that matters. Playing baseball was…it _is_ the only thing I ever did well. The game – it was, it _is_ real.” He lets out a long drawn sigh and hunches his shoulders.   

She’s choked up, unsure of what to say. She slips her arm around his broad frame, tracing her fingers over the freckles on his back. He leans into her slightly.

“That’s quite a speech.” She manages.

He snorts indignantly.

“You wanna know what I think?”

He looks at her. For some reason, she’s a teenager again, watching Mom through the shutter, giggling and blushing while Kevin embraces her.

“Rachel is full of shit.” She declares, blinking away the memories.

His jaw twitches. She sees  a protectiveness rise in his glistening eyes. She doesn’t think less of him for it. He’s fiercely loyal. A rare and underappreciated quality in men as Ginny sees it.

“I know you still love her,” Ginny says, “I know you care about her. I’m sure all those things you say, may have contributed to a rift between you two, maybe even set the tone for infidelity. And I know I’m young – there’s  a lot of things about people and relationships I don’t understand.”

His eyes are red with emotion.

“But I’ve played a hooker more than I’ve wanted to, entrapped johns long enough to realize this, Mike: people _cheat_ because they want to. She cheated because she wanted to.”

Ginny wets her mouth. “And had the situations been reversed, you wouldn’t have done the same.” She adds, softly. “Truth, is you _didn’t_. Even when your marriage was over, even if it wouldn’t technically qualify as cheating, I don’t think you would have gone through with it that night. Even if Ginny had never recognized you, even if Margie had tried to seduce you…”

That wretched expression breaks, he doesn’t smile but he doesn’t look so forlorn either.

“Well – Margie may have had all the moves.” Mike murmurs. Ginny rolls her eyes. “But Ginny’s one hell of a foxy lady.” He kisses her forehead.

She chuckles. “Margie, Ginny.” She snorts. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“The cop is real.” He kisses her nose. “That kid with that perfect screwgie – she was real too.” He kisses her mouth. “Why do they have to be separate? Why can’t they both be a part of you?”

She’s about to mouth off an answer – but his last question surprises her. He scans her face with what feels like admiration. “ _You_ are real, Ginny Baker.” He whispers. 

Ginny stares back at him in a daze.

He narrows his eyes and then he looks away suddenly, breaks into a grin. “How was that for a speech?”

Ginny smiles back, doesn’t laugh. She knows he’s just covering with humour.

“Mike – I…” She sighs. “I’m on duty. I have to go.”

He nods, his grin fading into a sad smile. “Yeah.” He breathes.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that a man like Mike Lawson would be able to grasp at the heart of her inner dichotomy.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

If Oscar Araguella remembered a girl from a scout video taken years ago, almost recognized her while she was camouflaged with concealer and glitter as Margie, she rationally expects him to identify her as she is, name-tag exposed and all. But Mr. Araguella is far too preoccupied with his own problems, pacing around with the weight of the world on his shoulders, phone tagged to his ear like an appendage.

Even if it wasn’t common knowledge that Mr. Araguella was an ex-MLB player – his mannerisms attest to a true ballplayer inside that impeccable suit.  He keeps reaching for things, objects, tossing them up and down in his free hand. He starts with a crumpled sheet of paper from the top of the pile in her trashcan, moves on to the spherical paperweight on her desk. Just as Ginny’s about to offer him the baseball she hides in her desk drawer, he finds one of Duarte’s creepy doll heads – and seems surprisingly satisfied with that.

She finds it odd that the General Manager of the San Diego _Padres_ is willing to come all the way down to support a soon-to-be disgraced player despite the hour. Mr. Araguella accompanied Stubbs with zero fan-fare, zero drama. He does not even throw his weight around, expected for a man of his position and connections.

The team manager, being here - not so odd. 

Ginny isn’t concerned about recognition from Mr. Luongo’s end. He hadn’t really looked in her direction that night at Violet’s party. She assumed he was a grumpy snob at the outset, but after spending some time with him, she finds a kind-hearted, caring person who always puts his players first. The kind of man she would want in her corner in any given situation, at any given point in life.

That poor old man just redefines the term ‘stressed-out’ with that heartbreakingly ashen face - haggard, sleep-deprived, sweating at his balding hairline. Given a choice, Ginny knows he’d be pacing a hole on the floor right in tow with Mr. Araguella if he didn’t have that nasty limp.

He smiles at her with clenched teeth and thankful eyes when she places an unasked-for cup of coffee for him.

“I gotta tell you, Detective.” Mr. Luongo speaks. “I took pride in the fact that there wasn’t a single drug problem in the clubhouse ever since I took over. Guess there’s no such thing as a winning streak, ha?”

She doesn’t correct him that her designation is ‘Officer’.

“Well –“ She says. “All the other players have been given a clean chit – so you still don’t have a problem, Mr. Luongo.”

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better kid,” He doesn’t smile, but he looks her in the eye.

“Did it work?”

“No.” But he does give her a small sheepish smile.

Ginny excuses herself and heads off to the interrogation room when Duarte calls for her.

Because ‘LP’ was an illegal cocktail of illegal constituents, suspension from the baseball league was the least of Stubbs’ worries. They arrest him on possession and intent to distribute charges at the start of the graveyard shift, thereby keeping his arrest a secret even from the sparse set of cops working on their floor.

Evelyn works out a plea. Probation, community service and fines instead of jailtime. In exchange for providing information on Pascal and helping them set up a bust.  Knowing what they do about Pascal, he won’t be an easy catch. They’ll need to entrap him -  using Stubbs as bait.

Blip and Evelyn even offer to give written recommendations to the MLB if they ever consider reinstating him, provided he gets his act together at the end of the six-month probation. Stubbs does not agree. Araguella and Luongo promise to try from their end to petition the MLB on a ‘second chance’ policy. It doesn’t work. His lawyer tries to convince him that the plea an easy let off, given what Stubbs would face if he doesn’t take it. It doesn’t help.

Everyone’s on board with the idea except Stubbs. He’s so terrified out of his wits he keeps asking to go the bathroom. Duarte’s frustrated at having to babysit his piss-breaks.

Finally, Mike steps in. 

 

“Now this is what I call teamsmanship…” Bellamy speaks just as she enters observation room.

On the other side of the window, Stubbs is at the desk, his lawyer by his side.  Blip stands leaning on the door of the room. Evelyn is leaning on the wall right next to her husband. Lawson sits across from Stubbs. His deep hushed voice wafting into their side from the speaker. Stubbs seems less edgy, keeps nodding as Mike reassures him.

“Kid won’t trust the Detective who’s got power on the cuffs, won’t trust the ADA who’s offering him a signed plea as a commitment, won’t trust the man who signs his paycheque, won’t even trust his team manager – but…” Bellamy taps at the window, his finger in Mike’s direction. “…he trusts the teammate who turned him in.”

Mike’s not just any teammate, she wants to tell him. He’s a man who looks out for his team. He’s a man who looks out for everyone.

“Baker.”

“Sir?”

“Set up the operation – you’re in charge.”

“Okay – _what_?”

“You heard me?”

“B-b-but this is like a super important op.” she whines stupidly.

“And _you_ are going to plan to _super_ important op.” He drawls, mimicking her. “Christ, you’re just like my kid! Whines that I don’t give her enough responsibility around the house, whines when I tell her to mow the lawn.  Sanders is gonna be there, but not as your supervisor. I thought you’d be happy to get to boss Duarte’s smarmy ass around.”

“But I’ve never really –“

“Officer Baker, what exactly is the problem here?” He sounds irritated now. “It’s high time you get some leadership experience. Most officers would be chomping at the bit to plan and supervise an op like this!”

 _Most officers don’t feel like a fraud in a police officer’s uniform_ , she thinks. But, she doesn’t tell him that.

 

* * *

 

 

The meeting is supposed to happen in the player’s parking lot at Petco in the morning before the All-Star game. Blip coaches Stubbs through the conversation on the phone with Pascal but it doesn’t quell the nervous undertone in his voice.

Stubbs is bawling like a child by the time they’re ready to wire and vest him. It was sympathy-evoking at first but eventually Ginny’s annoyed, Duarte’s down right pissy and Blip’s just muttering under breath.

No amount of reassurance seems to make it happen for him. Ginny can only think of one way it will work.

“Are you sure about this?” Bellamy asks her after they regroup in security office of the parking level.

She looks at Blip and Duarte. Neither of them are happy about it and Ginny feels the same. But they only have two hours before the scheduled meet, their window is narrowing by the minute.

She glances at Mike, sitting in the chair, looking curiously at the monitors. He nods at her and the Captain with a very serious look on his face when they turn their attention to him.

“I would prefer Mr. Lawson to stay in here.” Ginny admits. “But – Stubbs is far too restless. We can’t risk spooking Pascal. He does seem calmer at the prospect of Lawson being by his side.”

“Mr. Lawson…” Bellamy turns to him. “Putting one civilian at risk is one thing, putting two…”

“Look,” Mike says. “I’m not exactly excited about this either, but Stubbs is scared. And can you blame him? This isn’t something people do.”

Everyone understands that.

 “He’s a player on my team – “ Mike adds. “I turned him in – and if something happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself. If it’s important that he stays calm – then I’ll do what I have to facilitate that. I promise you guys, I won’t be in the way, I’ll do exactly as you say.”

“Pascal has been pressurizing Stubbs for introductions to other players,” She says. “I’m sure if he sees Mr. Lawson, he’ll probably get excited enough to let his guard down.”

She looks to Blip and Duarte, they look like they’re reluctantly agreeing to her hypothesis.

“Fine, but I need a green signal from the chief on this." Bellamy nods, motioning Blip and Duarte to follow him.

Mike looks worried. His posture is hunched and he’s fiddling with the baseball that Blip loaned him earlier at the precinct. She wonders if she’s imagining newer furrows on his forehead because they’re all so pronounced.

“He’s going to freak.” He states, just the men leave the room. “Stubbs needs more time – he can’t wrap his head around this.”

“There’s a very small window for us to work with here,” Ginny says softly, glancing towards the policemen huddled in a quiet discussion outside the room. “Pascal is over-cautious and slippery. If he gets wind that Mr. Stubbs was arrested, then he won’t show.”

He rubs his eyebrows. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“He won’t and neither will you.” Ginny promises. “Look, there’s restricted access to this parking lot, there’s enough cameras and enough dark spots to keep police officers out of view. And it is their regular meeting spot, so it’s unlikely Pascal will think of it as suspicious.”

He juggles the ball. “This is yours.” He states. He points the ‘GB’ scribbled on it.

She smiles.

He looks up at her beseechingly. “Tell me you’re a part of this.”

“I’m –“ She hesitates.

“What?”

“I’m in charge of it, actually.”

He blinks at her and his face relaxes, he slaps the ball into her palm. She doesn’t know when she’d held her palm open for it. “Fine by me.” He nods.

“What –" She’s astonished. “Seriously?”

“Seriously what?”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m – y’know – in charge?”

He furrows his brow again. “Why would it?”

She doesn’t quite know how to answer that. _I’m no better than a rookie, I haven’t done this before, I’m just faking all the badassery, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I might get you killed. You may think I’m a cop but I don’t feel like it._

“I don’t know much about –“ He waves at the monitors. “All this...I mean, it’s not like I can depend on reruns of _NYPD Blue_ for research.” He says, taking her hand, and rubbing her pitching calluses. Ginny’s starting to think it's a comfort mechanism for him.

He looks up at her. “You’re ballplayer at heart.” He says. “I don’t know cops but I know ballplayers. I don’t care that you’ve not seen a real baseball diamond in years. To me that implies discipline, dedication and advance prep. I know you won’t take this lightly.”

Ginny mouth drops. “Mike – I…”

“Yo Mami!” Duarte sticks his head in the room. His dimpled smile switches to a dimpled scowl when he catches sight of them holding hands.

“What?”

Duarte’s disapproving expression doesn’t fade, neither does his gaze on Lawson budge. “Chief gave us the green signal. Mission’s a go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“All units, come in this is Charlie. Final checks please.” She radios in checking all the cameras.

“ _Alpha unit, in position_.” Bellamy answers.

 _“Bravo unit, in position.”_ Cassidy answers.

“ _Foxtrot, in position.”_ Grace answers.

“Okay.” She clicks of the radio, she looks at Stubbs, just as Duarte and the police technician finishes fixing his wire. “We’re ready to send you. Are you ready?”

Stubbs is just ogling at her – like he’s suddenly just noticed she was here all along.

“You’re really pretty.” He says.

She catches Mike’s irritated eyeroll.

“Thank you.” She dismisses it.

“Are you single?”

She gives him a look.

“It’s just that…” He asks, louder, checking her out. “You’re way too hot to be single.”

It’s Ginny’s turn to roll her eyes.

“What’s your deal with men?” He asks.

Ginny chuckles. “What?”

“Like, are you a nun?”

Why would he ask her that? “Nope,” She pipes. “Not a nun.”

“Lesbian?”

She glances at Blip and Duarte who give her identical knowing shoulder shrugs.

“Sorry to disappoint, but no.”

“You ever…”

“C’mon man!” Mike interrupts, punching him gently in the shoulder. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Stubbs face crumples into sheepishness. “Sorry – I was just making conversation.”

Whatever _that_ was, it seems to have distracted Stubbs long enough to relax. Nonetheless, he asks to go to the bathroom again. Duarte looks about ready to murder the poor man, so Blip intervenes, escorts him out of the van. The mousy tech also wants to take a leak so he scurries after them.

“Can you -?” She motions to Mike to open his shirt. “I need to strap this.” She lifts the protection vest.

“You don’t have to come up with excuses to get me out of my clothes.” He teases as he sheds his button down. She stifles out her smile and shakes her head.

Duarte makes a ‘ _tsk’_ noise.

“So – I guess this the thing protects cops from getting shot in the heart, huh? Keeps you safe and everythin’?” Mike asks while Ginny tightens the straps over his undershirt, securing the vest around his muscular torso. She slips the wire underneath, clipping the microphone to the edge of the vest and secures its transmitter over the waistband of his jeans.

“Yeah, ‘cause we don’t ever get shot in the head...” Duarte retorts caustically. “Or in the balls.”

She snaps a look at Duarte.

Mike looks slightly disconcerted. “Okay, that’s a little scary.”

He’s remarkably cool for a guy in a very dangerous position. Ginny wonders if he’s just accustomed to stress, or if he’s deliberately keeping peaceful front. She tugs the shirt edges together, automatically moving to the buttons. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets her button up the shirt without a word.

“This is a first.” He whispers just as she tabs in the top buttons, “though, I gotta admit, I totally prefer it the other way around.”

Ginny blushes, pursing her mouth.

“Don’t worry, Mike.” She says, looking up at him. “We’re gonna take care of you.”

He’s superfluously unperturbed, a contrary to how she feels inside.

“I know.” He murmurs, searching her eyes.

“Don’t be a hero or anything over there, okay, Lawson?” Duarte slurs, making them both jump. “You won’t have a story to tell your groupies if you’re dead.”

“What is your problem man?” Mike growls.

“This is a risky situation. Either you’re inhumanly fearless, or you’re trying to be a hero.”

“Let’s go with option A - I _am_ inhumanly fearless.” Mike affirms so brashly that would have a bystander convinced of it. Ginny knows he’s just floating self-assurance. “And hero? For whom?”

Duarte throws an implied look in Ginny’s direction. Ginny releases an annoyed outbreath.

“You really expect me to believe that you’re just gonna trust us to keep you safe, people you don’t know from Adam and put yourself in harm’s way? For the sake of a player who can’t keep his shit together?” Duarte scoffs. “I’m sorry I don’t accept that.”

“It’s how a team works. It’s what being a team captain is.” Mike bites out. “I don’t care if you accept it or don’t.”

Duarte clucks his tongue sarcastically.

“And for the record,” Mike adds, looking at Livan. “I don’t trust _you_.” He looks at Ginny. “I trust her.”

“Enough!” Ginny shushes them. “This is _not_ a pissing contest!”

She glares at both men. Duarte shrivels eventually and Mike – well he just throws her that charming smile as though her heated looks don’t faze him. 

The door of the van opens and Blip comes back in with a visibly composed Stubbs. Both pick up on the tension in the enclosure of the van. Stubbs just looks at Lawson nervously but Blip is more vocal on it. “What’s going on?” Blip asks.

“Nothing.” All three of them bark together.

“Oo-kay. That’s not nothing.” Blip drawls.

Ginny shakes her hand, dismissively. “It’s almost time. You wanna walk it through again, Mr. Stubbs?”

“Yeah, sure. Usual thing right? Wait for him to show up. Get out of the car. Give him the money, take the dope.”

“Either one of you can make the trade.” Ginny says, looking at Mike. “So – be calm and don’t freak out. Try to keep the conversation as brief as possible. As soon as money changes hands I want you both to take cover behind the cars.”

“What if he wants Mike’s autograph?” Stubbs says. “He’s a big fan.”

She expects Mike to puff up and crack some wiseass comment, but Mike looks justifiably tensed.

“Well then…” Ginny looks at Mike. “Give it to him. Try and have that conversation before the trade.” She says. “Be brief about it. Remember, even if you can’t hear us, we’ve got eyes and ears on you. Be careful.”

Both men nod.

Blip and Duarte get out first, followed by Stubbs.

Mike takes one glance back at her before leaving. Ginny tries to push away the troublesome nervousness she feels for his safety. “I have a really great speech.” He grins.

“I’m not one of your rookies.” She grins.

“If you were I can think of one I’d give you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What would you say?”

“I wouldn’t.” He smiles. “You’d tell me to shut up and tell me that you don’t need a speech from anyone.” He winks at her and then hops out of the van.

Ginny smiles.

 

 

 

The takedown is easy – too easy.

“Margie?” Pascal exclaims softly, when he sees her. “You’re a cop?”

Ginny has always known Pascal to be skittish as a new-born colt and as volatile as a homemade bomb; but right now, he’s unnaturally calm and submissive.

She glances up at Mike as she pins Pascal under her knee, getting his hands behind his back. Blip’s already flanked Mike and Stubbs, shepherding them behind a car. Mike is observing her with some amount of alarm and apprehension as she cuffs Pascal and narrates his Miranda rights. 

Duarte hovers over her keeping his gun aimed at Pascal.

“Where’s Cara?” Pascal asks her.

Ginny glances at Blip and Duarte. They look as confused as she feels.

Pascal starts to smirk when he sees the look on her face. “You don’t know that she’s gone?”

She doesn’t respond. “Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?” She snaps, jerking him by the cuffs.

He cackles. “Oh! Margie! You are in sooo-oh much trouble. She is mighty pissed at you two.” He sings.

He’s talking about Violet.

“Wait till she finds out that you’re five-oh!” He snickers. “Don’t think your badge is going to keep you safe, Margie – or whatever your real name is.” Pascal neighs.

She and Duarte haul him to his feet. “Threatening a police officer, _amigo_? Really?” Duarte bellows angrily.

“I sure hope I get to watch when she has you skinned alive and strung up like jerky.” Pascal sings.

“Shut up!” Duarte belts out.

Pascal laughs, eyes glued on Ginny.

Ginny watches with a growing sense of dread as Duarte shoves him into a police car. She marches to the surveillance van, yanking off her cap, combing out her hair. She unzips the jacket flapping the lapels to get some air, loosens her vest, reties her hair into a bun and throws the cap inside. She grabs a water with sweaty palms, her pulse racing, struggling to breathe. She gulps it down in one almost choking swig.

“What’s wrong?” Blip asks, coming up to her.

“Have you ever known a bust to go down so easy?” Ginny hisses, throwing the empty bottle next to the cap, decides against wearing it because her head feels unnaturally sweaty, her heart rate won’t let up. At least, her breathing feels more steady after hydrating. She refastens the vest and zips the jacket up again, wiping perspiration off her forehead using the sleeve

“Maybe he’s stoned.” Blip says, looking back in the direction of Duarte’s car.

She frowns, looking at Blip. “It’s like he was - expecting this.”

“Don’t overthink it.” Blip says.

“I don’t know.” Ginny lets out a shaky sigh. “Blip, what if Cara’s in trouble?”

Blip looks about as worried as she feels. “He may be bluffing.” Blip says. “Let’s get some answers out of him first.”

She nods but...

This is not a win. It doesn’t feel like it. She doesn’t feel like she did anything. She feels like this arrest was just handed to her on a silver platter.

“We did it, Baker.” Blip reassures her.

“We ain’t done nothing yet.” She mutters automatically.

She follows Blip towards Mike. He’s sitting in the back of an emergency van that rolled in right after they’d moved in on Pascal. Cassidy is helping Mike out of the protection vest and detaching the wires, both men chatting animatedly while the paramedic examines Mike.

“…it’s usual protocol.” Cassidy’s explaining. “Civilians involved in any police operation have to undergo a check. It’s in the interest of their own mental and physical health.”

“Yeah, sure man, whatever.” Mike says. “I get it.”

His face brightens when he spots her, Ginny feels her tension abate.

 _At least, he’s unharmed_ , she thinks.  

“Wow! I gotta say.” Mike whistles. “That was pretty awesome. But. Let’s not do that again, though. _Ever_.”

“Smoothest takedown I’ve ever seen…” Blip lauds. “Thanks to yours and Stubbs’ cooperation.” He claps Mike’s shoulder. “You guys did good.”

“You guys did all the hard work.” Mike commends. “I just stood there and looked pretty.”

Blip laughs, permits Cassidy to leave. The older detective reminds Mike about a signed picture for his son to which Mike jovially assures that he will send it via post. Cassidy beams at Ginny, gives her the thumbs up and mouthing a ‘good job’ before he departs. 

Ginny smiles wanly – feeling unsettled again, almost like a fraud.

“I’ve spoken with the Captain.” Blip tells Mike. “We’ll wait till after the All-Star game to take your statement. Baker here will escort you to the clubhouse right now. I’ve gotta do what we call a ‘round up’.” 

Mike nods. “What about Stubbs?” He says, looking in the direction of the younger player being escorted away by Cassidy to his car

“He’s off to the arraignment. Don’t worry, Evie’s got it. The plea will hold.” Blip assures him.

Mike smooths down his moustache over the beard and then looks at her.

“Everything alright?” He says, lifting his brow, worry lines running horizontal.

“Yeah, everything’s just fine.” Ginny smirks.

“It doesn’t look like it.” He says, rolling down his sleeves after the medic detaches the BP cuff and hands him his backpack. Mike rebuttons his shirt and scrutinises her face with a sombre expression. She glances away.

“It’s just aftershocks.” Blip says. “Baker’s been doing some solid policework this past year – sometimes you gotta just take a minute and breathe. Let it all sink in.”

“Yeah, she’s a total gamer.” Mike remarks. “Hell of a lot stronger than I am, that’s for sure.”

Ginny feels her cheeks colour.

“And how would you know that?” Blip says, his voice taking a curious tone. “You’ve known her for less than forty-eight hours.”

Ginny’s eyes widen. Mike crosses his arms and smirks calmly. She straightens her face and shrugs, keeps her expression stoic. Blip glares at her, shaking his head. Ginny knows he’s unhappy about her unwillingness to offer the truth upfront. He turns his glare at Mike in a silent warning and then marches off when Mike shrugs again, keeping a straight face.

Ginny rubs her forehead and then motions to Mike to go towards the door that exits towards the elevator.

“Why didn’t you tell Blip…?” Mike starts, as they wait for the elevator to arrive.

“You really want Blip to know the truth.” She cuts him off. “About that night –? About _when and how_ you met Margie? He won’t care much about the ‘why’ Mike, not if he finds out you went looking for a hooker.”

He swallows hard, gawking at her.

The door open and they walk in. Mike punches in for the clubhouse level.

“There was a recording.” She whispers urgently. “I couldn’t let it see the light of day. If Blip finds out I tampered with it – I’ll be done, Duarte will sink with me.”

“Duarte knows?”

“I was wearing a bug. He was listening on the other end. I asked him to erase it.”

“And he did it, just like that?” Mike sounds surprised.

“It’s how it works between partners. At least between us. Duarte’s solid, like that.”

“Why do you do this, Ginny –? He turns to face her. “Why protect me like this? I don’t deserve your kindness.”

Ginny thinks he’s joking but when she looks at him she finds him looking at her solemnly. She turns to face him. “Don’t ever say that you don’t deserve kindness –“ She asserts. “From anyone.”

The elevator dings open. Ginny gestures for him to go before her. He looks at her for a long time and then squeezes his eyes. “Will I see you later?” He asks, when he opens them.

“I – uh –“  She hesitates. “Duarte’s going to come by later to take your statement.”

He nods and then stops the elevator from closing again. He walks out, she follows him. “I don’t – I don’t know if it’s appropriate.” She whispers truthfully, hurrying up to fall in line with him. “You being a part of this investigation now – even as a bystander, it complicates things.”

He doesn’t comment, but she sees the unhappy grimace. Ginny walks beside him silently as they head towards the back entrance of the clubhouse.

“Hey.” He says, just as they’re about to turn around the corner. “What’s wrong, really?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re doing that thing…” He gestures to her eyebrows. “It’s that – you get that look you get when you’re worried about something legit.”

“Oh, so you’re a face reader now?” She cracks, crossing her arms. “Think you know me so well, superstar?”

He doesn’t bite. He just studies her, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.

“It’s like Blip says.” She sighs. “It’s aftershocks – hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“See…” He grimaces. His tone turns slightly playful. “You’re _also_ doing _that_ thing where you choose your words carefully. I’m a catcher, Baker. I get paid _crazy_ and I mean, outrageously _huge_ …” He adds a gesture for emphasis. “Amounts of money for reading hitters and pitchers. It’s what I do – for a living. Give me some credit.”

“I can’t discuss things with you – “ Ginny stifles a giggle. “You’re probably going to be listed as a material witness.”

“Then don’t tell me as a material witness. Tell me, off the record, as your boyf–“ He stops himself, looking sheepish.

“As my _what_?” She coughs.

“As your man- _friend_.” He rephrases, giving her a cheeky smile. “Your significantly important, man-friend with _benefits_ …” He gives her a sexy onceover. “Lots of benefits.”

Ginny sniggers. “Is that what we are now?”

“I kind of…wanna be more.” He says, looking at her hopefully.

Ginny’s smile wanes – but her heart swells, pretty much does a little cha-cha inside her chest.

“This is too complicated.” She says, trying not to blush.

“It always is.” He sighs resignedly. “But seriously – what’s got you worked up? I thought you’d be happy. This whole bust thing went down pretty well, didn’t it?”

“ _Ugh_! – I just…” She huffs. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Baker, c’mon. It’s just you and me here.”

She relents. “It’s just a gut feeling I have – I don’t know what, where – how. I can’t shake it. It feels like that thing – you know? You’ve done all the advanced prep, and you know how your hitter swings, and it looks like he’s gonna go that way but there’s something about his posture that tips you off. You have an inkling he’s going to bunt the last minute - and no one's mentally prepared to field it. Next thing you know runners advance, everyone’s just scrambling around like chickens but you can’t do anything about it because – you weren’t sure.”

“So, what’s wrong if you go with your gut?” He shrugs, nodding at some clubhouse workers who pass by.

She really has no answer for that.

“I – I don’t know.” She says. “I mean – it’s just a feeling, right? An instinct? No hard evidence to back it up. And - I’m not that experienced to distinguish a feeling versus actual fact.” She shrugs and snorts in self-indignation.  “Lord knows, half the time I feel like this kid running around in a cop-clothes because my little league uniform got ripped in the drier.”

Mike chuckles.

“Who’s to say he won’t actually swing?” She completes.

“Who’s to say he will?” He shrugs.

Ginny tilts her head at him and pouts.

She spots a familiar figure, just then, a  blonde she knew all too well, hunched over her phone, standing beside some crates a few feet away from the clubhouse’s back entrance.

“Oh crap.” Ginny ducks to closer to the wall, using Mike’s broader body as a shield. Mike glances over sees Amelia and then looks back at Ginny apologetically.

“Hey I uh…” He drops his voice. “She doesn’t know that I was part of – of the thing. I didn’t want to tell her until it was done”

Ginny agrees. “Seems fair. Why is she here? Isn’t it time for the game?”

“I’m – sitting out the game.”

“Why?”

“My back.” He pouts. “Amelia’s lined up a spot for me at the post-game broadcast.”

“Oh.”

“The audition sucked.” He looks depressed. “I gotta tell you, Baker, I always thought I’d be a natural, what with my –“ He widens his eyes in mocking vanity – “ _awesome_ TV friendly personality and all…”

Ginny rolls her eyes at that.

“…but I suck at it.” He concludes, that depressed look shadowing his face again. “It’s like I told you, baseball is the only thing I’m good at.” He shrugs. “And – that’s a pretty short train I’m riding…” He trails off, looking down at his knees.

“You’ll be fine, Old Man.” She consoles him.

“Well…” He sighs, like he’s reeling all his emotions back in, “if nothing else works out, I guess, there’s always the SDPD.” He squints. “Hey, do you think they’d hire thirty-something ex-catchers with bad knees as professional bust bait?”

Ginny breaks into small giggles “Well, only ‘cause you rock the hobo beard.” She tugs at his chin hair, sneaking glances over his shoulder to check if Amelia’s looking their way.

Mike grabs her fingers and starts rubbing at the pitching calluses.

“Hey uh!” She steps forward, closer to him, nodding in Amelia’s direction. “You can’t tell her just yet, about the op – or about me okay?”

“Why not?” He mumbles sounding preoccupied. He’s looking at her face with an indulgent expression, like he’s trying to work something out.

“I told you – the main operation is still on and she – she knows Vi- the Penguin.”

“The Penguin?”

“The main – person – we’re after. I don’t think she knows that _the_  Penguin is y’know – the _Penguin_. But, I can’t risk her divulging my identity. It’s all still classified information okay?”

“Do you have any idea -?” He murmurs sensually, stepping forward. “ - how sexy you sound when you say stuff like that?”

“That’s classified info too.” She giggles quietly.

He grins. “I won’t tell Amelia, relax. She’ll freak when she finds out I put myself up as bait.”

He pulls Ginny’s hand to his mouth and presses his lips on her knuckles before he releases it.  “I would _prefer_ to give you good luck kiss like a good boyf – man- _friend -_ with benefits.” He smirks. “But then you’d just have to arrest me for being so awesome.”

Ginny burst into a cackle, covering her mouth. He grins wide, looking happy to see her laugh.

He leans his head forward. “I could still try to…” He murmurs.

She resists the urge to catch his face and smooch him. She settles for a smile and withdraws. “Mike.” She chides, softly.

He nods with resignation and pulls back.

“Hello?” Amelia’s voice butts in. “Margie? Wasn’t it?”

_Oh fuck._

Mike groans and Ginny just winces. He moves aside and Amelia’s there, arms crossed, impeccably dressed, fake smile on her perfectly shaped face.

 _This is why,_ she tells herself, _you should not coochie-coo with your undefined man-friend while his uber-protective batshit crazy agent is just few steps away._

“That’s a new look.” Amelia says, frowning at Ginny’s clothes.

 _Shit._ Ginny looks down on the black tactical uniform with a bit of alarm. There’s a yellow SDPD embossed above the left breast pocket.

 “Yeah, um…” Mike starts.

“Did you change jobs?” Amelia jeers, titling her chin. “Looks pretty original.” Amelia smiles but Ginny quickly detects the blatant affront.

Mike frowns.  Ginny looks down on herself and almost laughs when Amelia’s implication hits her.

Her utility belt and gun are hidden under the length of the jacket and her radio is on mute. The only thing that gives away her identity is the jacket with the yellow SDPD-Police emblem that’s embossed above the left breast pocket. A jacket which can mistaken for generic commercial SDPD merchandise sold at a gift store. 

That woman’s superciliousness just made life a whole lot easier.

“Yeah – it does, doesn’t it?” Ginny makes a bitchy smile on purpose. “Got it at the thrift store. Way cheaper than buying an original.”

Mike looks between her and Amelia with confusion.

Ginny turns her Margie-voice on. “It was a special request. For one of the players up at the – uh -guest clubhouse - a birthday present.”

Mike catches on quickly, he firms his mouth and looks down.

Amelia widens her eyes in mock-interest. “Oh? Are you here on ‘work’?” Amelia asks, sweetly. “What’s the politically correct term for what you do?” She screws her eyebrows like she’s thinking. “Exotic dancing?”

“I like to keep it simple,” Ginny says, pursing her mouth. “Call it good ol’ fashioned ‘stripping’”

“I didn’t think they’d allow that sort of thing in Petco.” Amelia bites out.

“They don’t.” Mike mutters plainly, shaking his head.

But it isn’t like Amelia would be able to see past Margie.

“It was – um – discreet.” Ginny says. “I’m exclusive like that.”

Amelia’s eyes shift to Mike and back at her. “I’m sure you are.” Amelia mumbles through clenched teeth. “And so, you saw it fit to just ‘discretely’ run into Mike?” Amelia asks, but Ginny picks up on the threat in her tone.

“I’m leaving now.” Ginny admits. “Wouldn’t wanna get found out, right?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Yes.” Amelia smirks. “We wouldn’t want that.”

“I guess I’ll see you around?” Mike sighs, shaking his head, his mouth jerking like he just wants to laugh.

“No. You won’t.” Amelia announces, her warning to Ginny no longer veiled.

Mike rolls his eyes, Ginny stays put, watching the smile break on his face. Mike waits for Amelia walk ahead, her blonde tresses falling forward as she hunches on the phone, but Ginny knows that Amelia’s keeping her ear on them.

“Hey uh – Margie.” He says, just as Ginny’s about to start walking backwards. “You wanna know what I think?”

Amelia hisses in frustration, stops and spins around glaring at Mike in reprimand.

Mike ignores her.

“I think that," he says, "if _you_ think he’s gonna bunt, then he’s gonna bunt.”

Mike gives her that sweet, adorable smile before turning his back to her and walking past Amelia. Amelia lets out a loud, contemptuous sigh, clearly unconcerned with what that means.

But - it means everything to Ginny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sulky injured self could use a review.


	7. Assimilation

_“We did it, Pop.”_

_“We ain’t done nothin’ yet.”_

 

_There was a girl named Ginny. Her father was Bill Baker. When she was a little girl, she picked up a baseball and threw it at her Pop._

_He saw something in her that no one could imagine. He saw the dream before it was even hers._

_The dream - the major leagues. Like Jackie Robinson, like Mike Lawson._

_But the dream didn’t come easy. When she was a teenager she had to choose. A glove or a dress. To have everything but baseball or nothing but baseball._

_She chose baseball. She chose the glove. She chose the dream._

_And then Pop died._

_And, somehow the dream didn’t make sense any more._

_Sometimes the girl wonders if it really was her dream in the first place._

_Nothing felt right outside of the dream. Nothing felt right, ever again._

 

She wonders if this is ever going to end.

The silence is in the room is deafening. Blip is the one who finally breaks it.

“We got played, didn’t we?” He looks at her. She sees frustration, anger, and disappointment. “You were right.” He says.

Evelyn sighs unhappily and squeezes Ginny’s shoulder, her face conveying her sympathies.  Duarte slams his fist angrily on the table. No one startles from the clatter. Everyone feels what he feels.

“Everything he’s given you is useless. You can’t push him any further, guys, I’m sorry. He’s far too intoxicated” Evelyn speaks, once Duarte’s done belting out a plethora of foul things in Spanish. “His lawyer can argue a coerced statement. Except the possession charges, nothing else will stick.”

“She wanted to sniff us out.” Bellamy says, rubbing his face. “ _Dammit.”_ He sighs, dropping his head in his hands. “The chief’s gonna be pissed – we’ll be shut down before we can call the judge for a warrant.”

Ginny feels sorry for the Cap. He had the most at stake here, he’d bear the brunt of their failure with the higher ups. He’s really an exceptional man, as far as both Captains and Cops are unconcerned. Strong moral compass, always pointing to the truth.

“What about the FBI?” Duarte asks.

“They’re convinced – conceptually.” Bellamy sighs, “but there’s still no direct evidence linking Violet to the ‘LP’ trade. except the video.” Bellamy rubs his eyes, looking tired.

“And, we can’t use the video because Sequeira’s in it.” Blip mutters. “San Diego’s Madam for the one-percenters is not a concern for the FBI. They’re after _La Vibora_. They’ll will file a motion to keep the evidence classified and the DOJ will be right behind them. We’ve only got her on ‘Procuring and Pandering’. Can’t pin her for anything else. Murder, extortion – nothing.”

“She’s an outstanding citizen, no arrests – not even a parking ticket.” Evelyn adds. “Even if she’s convicted for the brothel- business – she’ll be out in five years tops.”

“Can’t we use _that_ to get her on the drugs?” Blip looks at Evelyn.

“A sole UC operative’s testimony of Violet won’t be enough, not unless the other escorts are willing to testify. Y’all performed multiple stings and john arrests simultaneously. They could easily argue that the police supplied the ‘LP’. There’s no actual proof except Ginny’s word that Violet distributed the drugs – there’s no recorded proof.”

Bellamy sighs. “Dammit, I really thought this was done.”

“It’s a matter of time before Violet finds out about Margie.” Blip looks at Ginny with worry. “We may need to get you some protection.”

Ginny doesn’t speak. She doesn’t know what to think or say.

She thought it was done too, she thought they had it.

_“We did it, Pop.” She said, because she thought they made it._

_“We ain’t done nothin’ yet.” Pop would say, because they hadn’t._

 

* * *

_“Hey, it’s me.”_

She smiles wanly, grateful that he can’t see the frustration she feels. “How did you get this number?” She asks. “This is my work phone.”

_“Er…you really wanna get into that?”_

She doesn’t, but – he makes her want to smile, despite her mood. “Yes.” She says.

_“I stole a business card from your desk.”_

“You were at my desk?”

_“I was curious. Do you know how freakishly impersonal your desk is?”_

“And nosy old men snooping about my stuff are the reason I keep it that way.”

 _“Ha. You are so funny.”_ He’s all snark. “ _Look at me, I’m laughing. Can you hear me laughing?”_

“I saw your post-game broadcast stint.” She says, sucking her bottom lip – just to shut him up.

Mike was completely out of his element at the show. He was nervous, vacillating and came off grossly unprepared, very much unlike the Mike Lawson on field.

 _“A.k.a. a broadcast disaster of epic proportions?”_ He owns up to it. “ _I’m beginning to think this whole phase two is never going to work.”_

“Phase two?”

_“Conversation for another time.”_

But still, his cringe-worthy awkward performance wasn’t the worst thing that happened. He was ambushed with news. Unpleasant news. News that had been the talk of sports town ever since.

 _“How’d it go –“_ He asks _. “With – that guy…Stubbs’ dealer?”_

“All good.” She says, dolefully.

She thinks of Mike’s face when they divulged the news - on national TV, no less. Ironically, the only part of that show where he seemed like indomitable Mike Lawson was when he declared his stance. No sugar-coating, no prevarication – just straight up fight and heart: _that guy’s not taking my job._

“How are you doing with the whole new catcher coming to take your job, thing?” She asks.

“ _All good.”_

They fall into a brief silence that he breaks. _“Did he bunt?”_

She sighs.

_“He bunted, didn’t he?”_

“Yes.” She answers.

_“I’m sorry.”_

“So am I.”

_“What does this mean for your-?”_

“Mike – you know I can’t disclose anything.”

 _“Okay.”_ He sounds grumpy again. “ _I won’t, do the thing._

“What thing?”

 _“The thing that good_ man- _friends do, like asking how your day went.”_

“You can’t just go and define our ‘association’ without me being a party to it.”

_“I can.”_

“Says who?”

_“Says me.”_

“I do not accept that.”

_“So, are you coming over to my place or do I finally get to see where you live?”_

“You can’t just change the topic like that, either.”

_“Says who?”_

“Says me.”

_“I do not accept that.”_

“Gaah! You’re so-!”

_“Sexy.”_

“No.”

_“Charming?”_

“Nope.”

_“Pleasant?”_

“Oh, hell no!”

_“Then what?”_

She mums her lips to stop the giggle from filtering through the phone. “Infuriating.” She says.

He chuckles. _“So, why can’t I come over to your place?”_

“I don’t exactly have a ‘my place’ – I’m living with Livan for the –“

_“That puh-! I mean p-partner of yours?”_

“Good save, Old Man.”

 _“Yeah well…”_ She can hear a suave shrug in his voice. “ _I was married for a while – kinda used to dancing on eggshells. Let the record reflect - I was gonna call him a punk – or maybe a putz.”_

“He’s my friend and my partner. I won’t have you criticize him.”

Silence.

“Are we clear?”

Silence.

She uses her cop-voice. “Are we gonna have a problem here?”

 _“Nope.”_  He sounds crabby.

“Cheer up, Old Man. It’s temporary. I’m looking for an apartment.”

That seems to work. _“Well, you know I do have a spare room.”_ He sounds perkier. “ _Lots of spare rooms actually.”_

“Are you asking me to move in?”

_“Yup.”_

“Very funny.”

Silence.

“Oh, you’re serious.”

_“Why wouldn’t I be?”_

“We’ve not even gone on a date.”

_“I know this great restaurant, it overlooks the -”_

“I can’t go out with you, Mike.”

_“Why? They told me the plea held. I’m not listed as a witness anymore.”_

“Yeah, but – a date?”

_“Your criteria for moving in with me, not mine. Hey, I’m not a fussy guy. I was cool with all the Netflix and Chill.”_

“Oh, we’re back to that? You better be pranking me, Old Man.”

_“Why is the idea of living with me so absurd?”_

“A - we barely know each other. B -  we’re not exactly normal people.”

 _“I’m normal.”_ He brags. “ _You’re the one with dual personalities.”_

She really wishes he could see her pointed eyeroll. “I mean –“ She elucidates. “ _You_ are a celebrity baseball player – I am a police officer. We don’t exactly live normal lives.”

 _“Which is precisely my point. Hear me out, okay? You and I have crazy work lives, right? It’s going to be impossible for us to get some quality time together to fulfill your criteria of ‘A-we barely know each other’. Also, you need a place to stay – and I’m sure Papi’s crib is all…_ chido _but - living together solves ‘B’ easily – and ‘A’ gets resolved a result.”_

Ginny’s a little staggered by his sensible analysis if she’s being honest.

 _“How’s that for problem solving, mm?”_ He says, when she stays quiet. _“Is it a wonder I’m the Captain? Old Man knees and all?_

“Okay – this is ridiculous, can we talk about something else?”

_“Why –? Baker! I’m not joking! Pay rent if it makes you feel better.”_

“I won’t be able to afford the rent for your fishbowl!”

_“I’ll give you a discount.”_

“This conversation is a waste of time.”

“ _If you’re worried things are moving too fast I’ll be a total gentleman, I won’t even touch you.”_

“Okay, firstly -   _if_ we live together, I definitely would want you to touch me - as ungentlemanly as possible – okay? _Stop!_ Stop that! Stop laughing! And second – the statistical odds of our relationship ending up a disaster are impressively high whether we live together or not.”

_“So, you admit we are in a relationship.”_

She huffs. “No – ! That is so _not_ what I was saying!”

_“C’mon Baker…you can admit you like me. I’m sure teenage Ginny wanted to marry me.”_

“I – I did not.”

_“Sure, you did.”_

“Fine.”

_“Fine, you admit we’re in a relationship? Or that teenage Ginny wanted to marry me?”_

“Fine, I’ll come over.”

_“Actually –“_

“Only because I do not want to have this conversation on a phone –" She rambles on. “But, you better not tell Blip!”

_“Sure, so – I was saying, I have a better idea. …”_

“What?”

_“Can you make it to Petco?_

 

 

 

 

She takes the bus because Duarte refuses to lend her his car after _that_ one time and, she doesn’t have one of her own. He’d asked her to dress comfortably, wear sneakers or something comfortable for a dirt ground. She doesn’t really have the headspace bandwith to wonder why. She’s too bogged down by worry.

It’s a starless, moonless night with a dismal night sky – a reflection of how she feels in the aftermath of a fruitless interrogation. She’s excited about seeing Mike – god knows he’s become the best thing about her life – but it doesn’t alleviate the impending apprehension that the whole operation had gone to hell.

Mike’s waiting for her at the Home Plate Gate entrance with a formidable middle-aged gentleman with a potbelly. His friend wears an unhappy glower that even outmatches Mike’s chronic scowl.

Her _man-friend’s_ face breaks into that captivating smile when he sees her.  Ear to ear, eyes disappearing under his ruddy cheeks. It eases the invisible burden inside her soul.

It also makes the other man’s frown deepen.

Ginny wonders if it’s just because the man is quite the grouch, or because Mike smiles like that for all the girls he brings over. She wonders if maybe this is not the first time he’s doing this –

…what are they doing here anyway?

“Hey!” Mike points to the man. “This is Russel, he’s the groundskeeper. Russel – this is my gi – er friend. Her name is…er...?” He looks to her for direction, starting to mouth the ‘M’

“You don’t know her name?” Russel sounds sceptical.

“Ginny.” She prompts, quickly.

Mike’s beard lifts higher, smile widens even more. “Russel owes me a favour.” He winks.

Russel clearly thinks of her as being less than a friend, and he shows it with disapproval. “Ma’am.” Russel nods at her curtly. “Follow me.”

“Hope you had dinner?” Mike asks her, reaching for her hand, hooking his forefinger with hers.

“Yeah – I ate earlier.” She says, slipping her full palm into his.

“Good. I wouldn’t wanna have to feed you and then watch you throw up.” He fits his larger thickset fingers through the spaces between hers and squeezes.

Is it really possible, her poor pining heart ponders, that Mike Lawson has _that_ special smile for her – and her alone?

“Why? What are we doing?” She asks, shaking off her thoughts.

Mike hushes her with a gesture and a broader smile.

They follow Russel through the indoor galleries, to a large open grill-gate that leads to the stands, he guides them through the massive gangways, past the barricades

“So, what are we -?” Ginny’s words die in her mouth as the deserted but flawless green expanse comes to view. Her mouth hangs open at the sight. The floodlights cast a fluorescent gleam over the impeccably maintained field. She looks up by habit, sees the moonless night sky, shrouded by the glare from the floodlights, feels a weightlessness within her, a connection to something imperceptible and impalpable, a feeling she hasn’t felt in years. 

“I’m proving to you that there are lot of benefits to living with me.” Mike whispers.

Ginny’s too flabbergasted to retort.

“One hour, Mr. Lawson.” Russel says. “Not a second more.”

“Mike.” He corrects him.

“I know who you are Mr. Lawson.”

“No man, I meant - we’ve known each other for years Russel, you can call me by my first…”

Russel silently but rudely snubs to Mike’s explanation and gestures to two young men before he stalks off muttering to himself. The groundsmen, by the look of their uniform, are waiting at the dugout carrying a lot of equipment.

“Not a fan of your speeches, I take it.” Ginny digs, when she’s finally able to form words.

Mike tapers his eyes at her. She gives him a cheeky smile in return. One of the boys run up to Mike and hands him some items and a bat and then takes off towards the infield.  Mike gestures in the same direction, handing her a black glove. “Go on.”

It’s a pitching glove.

“What?” She echoes.

“It’s broken in – don’t worry. Had to borrow it from Miller.” He appears to be mulling over something. “You know, he’s got small hands for a dude!”

“What?”

“Yeah – I mean, they’re not tiny or feminine. Not that feminine hands are bad thing, but Miller’s hands are really – what’s the word? Slim?” He looks at her, mistakes her shock for disdain. “You’re not going to go on one of your feminist rants, are you? I did say that it’s not a bad thing for a dude to have girl hands!”  

“What?”

“What?” He wails, confused. 

Ginny looks over, the boys are setting up what looks like a batting net and then flaps her hands quizzically. “What?” She hisses.

“Yeah sure, go on.” He gestures again.

“What?”

“To the mound – “

“What?”

“The pitcher’s mound. Baker, this whole ‘what’ thing is getting really annoying.”

She finally – _finally_ manages a different question. “Why?”

“Duh! To play ball!” He says, like it’s a given explanation and she was supposed to have understood it all along.

“Here?”

He makes a face. “No, in the pool, back at my place!” He retorts. “Of course, here, dummy!”

Ginny’s too thunderstruck to move or take offense at the ‘dummy’.

“The things a man does for his little lady!” Mike remarks with mock resignation. He looks at her with a sudden uneasiness. “Not that you’re little. Seriously don’t start with the whole labels thing – it’s exhausting!” 

She’s frozen in her spot. Literally. Her feet will not lift off the ground.

He catches her elbow and drags her. Her legs move then – only because he’s forcing her to. “It used to be a lot easier, y’know.” He chatters on. “Take her out to dinner, buy her flowers, chocolates, perfume. Wow her with –“ He exaggerates his eyes. “ - my charismatic personality. I’m irresistible to women, have I told you that? I think I have, but I’ll tell you again.”  

Ginny’s still blinking dimwittedly when he lets go of her at the pitcher’s mound.

“Women are so finicky these days.” He sighs dramatically, shaking his head like he’s sacrificing a first-born, or a puppy.

“Mike!” She gasps, eyes feeling misty, her insides feeling warm and elated.

He winks at her when he sees the emotion on her face. “C’mon babe.” He shakes her, gently. “We don’t have all night – one hour, remember?”

The ‘babe’ snaps her out of it.

“Don’t call me that.” She barks.

“Oh yay, the feminsta is back!” He cheers.

He smacks her rump and starts walking across.

“What the fuck-!”

“Told you I was an ass-slapper.” He calls back.

“Hey! _Hey!_ ” she demands, “Get back here!”

He sighs loudly and trudges back babbling away. “Yeah – I slap asses, it’s what I do…it’s not sexual, well, maybe it can be a little sexual?” He squints one quizzical eye at her. “For us?”

Ginny frowns and lashes her arm out, swatting his ass. She has to bite down on her lip to maintain sternness. “’Guess we’re on the same page, Captain.” She sasses. “Go on now.”

He guffaws, catching her chin, and giving her a short, hard kiss. It’s more beard grating that lips. “This is gonna be fun.” He says. “Hey,” he makes a very serious face, “don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you’re pretty and you’re my girlf - _woman_ -friend.”

“- with benefits, you mean?” She appends.

“With benefits, I mean.” He approves with a wink.

“You bet your fine white ass, I won’t.” She hollers after him as he walks away. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you ‘cause your bones are brittle.”

“You bet your perfect pear-shaped ass I won’t.” He hollers back.

“Don’t you wanna wear a helmet or something? What if you get hurt?” She shouts.

“A whiffle ball would hurt more than any pitch you throw!” He throws back.

“Don’t think this means you’re gonna get laid at the end of this.” She shouts.

“Oh babe – “ He turns around, resting the bat on one shoulder and walks backwards giving her a that all knowing, sexy, shit-eating grin. “I am _definitely_ gonna get laid at the end of this!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There were two experiences that Ginny had would describe as pure untainted ecstasy.

Playing one-on-one baseball with Mike Lawson on a new moon night at Petco Park, kicking his ass with her pitching skills, watching him grin and laugh like he didn’t have a care in the world, beaming at her unreserved glee - was one of them. It felt like the first time she’d laughed so hard, and she didn’t even bother covering her mouth while she hooted up a riot.

The other one wasn’t new, wasn’t even a first-time thing – but it felt just as incredible.

Ginny’s brain is still stuck in an orgasmic rapture when she forms words.  “That was…” She gasps.

“Yeah.” He groans, rolling off her, breathing rapidly, collapsing on his back, the bed creaking one more time.

“It was…”

“Yeah.”  He breathes, grins at her.

He clears his throat, reaches for the water bottle at his nightstand. She hears the glugging sounds, unable to move her head, her body completely spent and limp like jelly.  Her pitching arm burns with exhaustion and cramps when she has to move it to take the water from him.

“It was all right.” He croaks, voice less chalky and breathing less rickety. “A little iffy at the top, pretty okay down the middle, but once you got to the bottom, that’s where we really upped the game.”

Ginny gurgles with laughter, spluttering small droplets of water. She tosses the bottle aside and turns to him unable to contain her smiles. He slides closer so she can snuggle into him. She licks the edge of his ear, wraps her arm around his neck.

“Ow!” He yelps when she bites down on the earlobe.

She does it again, biting softly this time, giggling and nipping along its edge – that soft pink velvety flesh driving her crazy. She plays with his beard for some time and then cranes her neck up at him, he meets her halfway for the kiss. Lot of tongue, too much of his beard in her mouth. Sloppy, messy...perfect.

“Thanks – for tonight.” She says, breaking the kiss with a small moan. “It – it was really something!”

He looks a little dopey when his eyes flutter open in the wake of their smooching. “Told ya I was gonna get laid.” He gloats.

She smacks his tummy. “Fatty.”

“Hey! This here – is solid muscle.” He points to his belly.

She pinches the paunch over his lower abs, pulls up the flabby skin to make her point. “Mmhmm.” She says. “Totally.”

“Haters gonna hate.” He tosses his arm out, slipping it under her. At first, she thinks it’s so she can rest her head on it but once she’s cushioned in, he winds his hand around her body and starts playing with her boob. She elbows his hand away and he gropes her ass. She swats his hand and he goes back to teasing her boob. She gropes his flaccid dick as a warning – he yelps and then behaves, traces her back and shoulder with a gentlemanly regard.

“Tonight,” She lifts her head up, resting her palm on his chest. “When we were playing – that’s the most _me_ I’ve felt in years?”

“I could tell.” He smiles at her tenderly. “You looked so happy.”

“Yeah.” She drops her head down on his breastbone. He smells of sweat and something sharper, something so him.

“And,” he adds, smugly, “a happy Ginny is a horny Ginny!”

She bites his nipple as an admonishment.

“Ow! Cut it out you little vampire!”

She licks the puckered nub to soothe it, then flattens her cheek over his pecs, listens to the quiet rub-dub inside his chest.

“Have you heard of Jim Morris?” His deep voice rumbles under her. “They made a movie about him.”

“I have.” She answers. “Oldest Rookie in the MLB, right?”

“He wasn’t the oldest. Diomedes Olivo was forty – some say forty-one - when he played for the _Pirates_.”

“So?”

“So, it may not be too late for you.”

Ginny frowns.

“Baker – you’ve got a lot more years on you than Morris did. I know the guy – if you want I can introduce you. And he wasn’t just older - he’d also had surgery. That’s not the case with you. You’re young, you’re fit.”

“I’m – not sure I can do it.”

“I don’t think anything makes you happier in this world than baseball.”

“Your dick makes me happy.” She sniggers, hiding her face in his chest.

“Okay – baseball _and_ my dick. There, are you happy smartypants?”  He smacks her ass and then gentles it. “Dirty mouth.” He adds.

“You know, you didn’t have any complaints when I used my dirty mouth a while ago…” She trails her fingers down, over the plane of his abs. He stops her hand just as it crosses his navel.

“You’re quite fit and strong.” He says in a serious voice. “– you’re flexible. I mean that in a non-sexual way.” Ginny looks up at him and he has that flippant grimace. “It’s pretty fucking awesome in a sexual way as well, like that thing you did back there with your legs…all the way up?” He prattles on. “I mean that was hot! And – yeah okay – you’re gonna look at me like that? Yeah – I know when to shut up.”

Ginny mums her lips, stifling a bout of giggles, dropping her head under his chin.

“Baker, I’m not fucking around here – I’m thinkin’ you’ll need a year tops to get back into like – serious form, but you’ve got the conditioning and the drive. Yes, it’ll take a lot of hard work and there’s gonna be a lot of shit to shovel but -”

“Mike.” She lifts her head up and silences him with a look.

He studies her face and sighs. “I’m not gonna be a hypocrite here or pretend like everything’s gonna be smooth. _I’d_ be your biggest critic if you were joining my team so you can’t expect any less of other MLB players – “

“Because I’m a woman?”

“Because I have high expectations of rookies.” He reaches his hand out to comb her hair back. “And yes – you being a woman would be an issue too, I’m sorry but that’s just how it would be. What I’m saying is – if you’re up to it, I’d like to help. I know the people who can help you.”

“Till this lasts, okay but - what comes after that?”

He frowns at her. “Who says we’re not gonna last?”

Ginny thinks he’s being glib but – “There’s a ‘we’?” She’s startled. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He lifts his head off the pillow. “What did you think this was?”

She sits up, tucking the sheet over her breasts. “I –“ She feels disconcerted. “Never mind.” She rubs her eyes. “I’m not thinking straight – “

“No, don’t do that.” He props himself up on an elbow. “Don’t choose your words carefully – not with me.”

She stares at him.

He looks cross, his voice is tense. “I’ve never treated you like a groupie, Baker – don’t you dare accuse me of treating this like a casual fuck.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“Is it because I’m so much older than you? Does that put you off? ‘Cause I can’t do anything about that.”

“No, it’s not.”

“FYI –“ He bites out, sounding bitter and peeved. “Sleeping with me won’t fast-track you through anything, least of all the majors.”

“Mike!”

“You’re a ballplayer, plain and simple.” He speaks with conviction. “You have a gift and you love it and I know you work hard. And yes, your pitching’s marginally rusty but it is amazing all the same.”

Ginny has nothing, she’s stupefied.

He frowns at her. “Is that why you don’t wanna move in?” His glare is so intense that it feels like it is searing all the way into her person. “This is a fling, according to you?”

“It’s not a fling.” She answers quickly. “It’s just complicated.”

“I meant, for me,” he squeezes his eyes and then looks at her accusingly, “You think - this is a fling, for me. Don’t you? And, for the record - it’s not complicated – not as far as I’m concerned.”

She’s speechless.

“You don’t believe me.” He whispers bleakly.

She doesn’t believe him – but she doesn’t disbelieve him either.

“Baker, say something!”

“You’ve just split up with Rachel.” She says, after a long silence.

“Yeah, so?”

“Mike – you’re still hurting.”

Mike stares at her with a half-opened mouth, half-narrowed eyes, and his forehead in furrows.

“Don’t you – need time to…process?” She probes, trying to sound sympathetic. “I mean – what if she comes back?”

He’s still staring at her like that.

“You love her, right?” She says, slowly. “I don’t think I would survive being in too deep with you – if -”

She doesn’t continue when she sees that burning look on his face. There’s an empty, heavy silence weighs between them.

“If?” He rasps.

“If - and when- she decides she wants you back.” Ginny says, carefully stressing on each word.

“What do you want from me?” He’s irate. “Singing telegrams or postcards with hearts on it?”

“I don’t want that!”

“If Rachel wants me back – so _what?_ ” He barks, his face turning red. “I’d think I have some say in how I would deal with that.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I haven’t been with anyone else but you, Baker. Do you have such little faith in me?”

“Lawson, look – falling in love is a risk…”

“So, that’s what this is about.” He snorts, scornfully. “You don’t wanna fall in love with me.”

Ginny struggles to think of the right words to say but he won’t give her the time or the space to articulate them. 

“I’m not the guy you fall in love with, right?” He scoffs. “I’m the celebrity, the player, the bad boy, the fucker who isn’t even good enough for his own wife.”

“I never said that.”

“You know, my ex-wife said that I didn’t start fighting for her till she was half-way out the door.” He says, snorting angrily. “She told me that – I don’t like having, I like chasing. And the second I have what I want – I figure out a way to throw it away. Is that what you think too? That once we’re together I’ll just -  throw it all away? On the next distraction that comes along, or -  I’ll go back to Rachel, when _she_ decides to give me second chance?”

“Lawson!” She shouts, shutting him up. “Your ex-wife is full of shit!” She puffs out angrily. “She did a real number on you. But -  that doesn’t mean you _won’t_ go back to her. Not because of all that ‘chasing -having’ crap you just said…” She shakes her head. “I mean, what is that anyway? It makes no sense!”

Mike doesn’t answer.

She recovers. “But, no. _Not_ because of that.” Ginny sighs, tries to keep her voice even. “She still holds your heart – even if she crushed it…all the pieces are…still…with her.”

“You don’t know that!” He roars. “Christ, I cannot believe I’m even having this stupid conversation with you! It’s _my_ heart, Baker! _Trust me,_ I know where it is. Pieces and all.”

Ginny takes in a breath to calm herself. She speaks softly. “Anything between you and me – “

“Anything _real_ between you and me, I’ll fuck up, right?” He intervenes. “Because I’m still that guy to you – that _poster_ on your wall. Makes sense, because in truth, that guy – he fucked up – a lot.” He clucks his tongue. “That’s all you expect of me.”

Ginny chews at the corner of her mouth.

“Of course, you don’t wanna fall in love with me.” He laughs bitterly. He doesn’t even spit the words – just states them like it’s a known fact.

“Shut up!” She screams. “I mean, what do you know about me, really?” She tugs the sheets furiously around her body – wanting something the beat her anger out on. “Fuck, half the time I don’t even know me!” Her voice is shrill and screechy now.

She glares at him. “Have you ever considered…” She asks, jabbing her thumb at her chest, “…that _you_ might not _want_ to fall for _me_?”

He stares at her, frowning for a long time and then his face goes expressionless. “Well, that – would suck.” He says, frankly.

 _Tell me about it,_ she wants to say. But she shoves her hair back, doesn’t speak.

He falls back to bed with a thud with a face so glum, that Ginny feels like she kicked a puppy. He sounds devastated. “Because – y’know –“ He turns to his side, away from her. “I’m kinda - halfway there already.” He mutters, sullenly.

She stares wordlessly at his back for long time, wondering what she’s supposed to do next.

“Get back in bed, Baker.” He mutters grumpily when she shifts, as though he can hear her thoughts.

Ginny knows he won’t see her smile when she lays down on her side. She skates closer and slips her arm under his, hugging his waist. His back heaves under her nose and she hears the rough deflated breath. He threads his fingers through her hand and tugs it up to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers and then tucking her hand under his chin, holding onto it, even when his breathing is sleep-shallow and steady.

Ginny presses her mouth between his shoulder blades and falls asleep with a stupid smile on her face.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“Baker?”

She doesn’t answer. She juggles the ball between her hands. Her arm feels sore, but she ignores it.

“Baker?” Bellamy bellows. “We have only about ten hours before we release him.”

“Sir, do you mind if I put my feet up on your desk?”

He’s super lenient on such things, no formalities or sycophancies as long as they get the job done. Bellamy waves his hand as permission. Ginny props her ankles up on his desk and crosses them.

“What is up with you?” Blip asks.

She doesn’t answer, keeps tossing the ball.

“You look tired.”

“Played some hardball last night.” She answers casually, ignoring Duarte’s pointedly sarcastic snort.  “Been a while.” She adds. “Felt good, but my arm hurts like a bitch.”

She throws the ball at Livan. He catches it automatically, without even blinking. He’s not even looking at her when he does it – in fact he’s looking at the ball in his hand with surprise. He tosses it back – as mechanically as he caught it.

“You better not break anything.” Bellamy crows.

She grips the ball as she does when she throws a screwgie, flings it up in the air. It spirals upwards, all the way up to the ceiling, everyone ducks – afraid that it will hit the roof and bounce off, but Ginny knows it won’t, she didn’t pack it with that much heat. It spirals back in a parabolic orbit, right into Duarte’s dexterous hands.

The next one is a simple toss, intended for and ending up in Blip’s hand. Any other senior detective would have been snarling at her by now, but Blip’s just awesome like that. He sighs and tosses the ball back to her.

She throws the ball up, plain and simple. Everyone ducks again. It stops just short of the ceiling and lands directly into her hand.

“Dammit Baker!” Blip thunders. “That’s enough. You’re gonna hurt somebody.”

She won’t. She knows exactly how much weight goes into her throws. She’s spent the major part of her life making sure the ball went where she wanted it to go. Exactly like Blip, who sees and notes everything, eye on the ball - always. Exactly like Duarte, who extends his arm to catch even without looking – like muscle memory.

Exactly like Violet Gleason. Violet also knew exactly how much weight to put behind whatever force was being applied, knowing everyone’s price and everyone’s folly. A devious, conniving organizer, who ensured things went the way she wanted them to go.

“He’s not going to give up Violet like this.” Ginny finally speaks. “No one gives her up. She covers all her bases, never gets her hands dirty. Doesn’t interact with the contract killers directly, never talks to her thugs or the hoes in the presence of anyone. Plausible deniability. Anyone who’s directly in contact with her stays silent because she has power over them. Either its money, or it’s someone they love, or it’s some ugly thing that they don’t want coming out. _That’s_ why we can never connect her to any of the major charges. That is why this woman has escaped - all along.”

All three men are rapt.

“There’s a reason Pascal was so heavily doped up when we arrested him.” She continues. “ _He_ – is an unpredictable variable for Violet. Even if the motive was to sniff us out – he is the one person she can’t control completely. Of all her cronies, this guy is a loose cannon. He’s the weakest link in her operation. He’s unstable, scares easily. Right now, he’s afraid that she’ll stop doing business with him for snitching on her. But that will last – only for so long, until the threat of Violet is outweighed by the threat of something greater.”

“So?” Bellamy prompts.

“I want to have a go at him.” She says, pulling her feet down and sitting up straight, tossing the ball without looking at it.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come in direct contact with him.” Bellamy says. “If his lawyer sees you then Violet will know about Margie…”

“Chances are he already does.” Blip adds. “His lawyer is on Violet’s payroll.”

“Put him in a separate holding cell – I won’t meet his lawyer.” Ginny asks Blip. “I’m not gonna ask him anything.”

“Then, what are you gonna do?” Livan asks, standing up, smiling at her like he knows she’s got something up her sleeve.

She smirks. “I’m gonna fake bunt.”

 

 

 

Whatever he was hopped up on was wearing off.

Pascal is hyperactive, sweating profusely, his eyes are sunken and bloodshot and he’s getting more anxious by the minute. There is a distinct stench reeking from the commode that makes the cell seem smaller and more suffocating.

“What did she hit you with, Pascal?” Ginny asks.

There is a tremor in Pascal’s voice. “My lawyer says I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Whatever it was, I’d say it’s mixed with barbiturates, a whole lot of them.” Livan says, sniffing the odour, standing by the door they kept open so that the CCTV had a view of them.

“He says you can’t question me, not without him around. You two better get out now or I’m cryin’ police brutality.”

“Don’t worry, _sabelotodo._ ” Livan drawls. He points to the cameras. “There are eyes on us. We are going to be on our best behaviour.”

“I don’t have to say anything to you.” He starts chanting. He starts scratching his head, moves to his ears and neck.

“Yeah don’t worry – _sable_ -whatever-he-said!” She affirms. “Because we’re not here to ask you anything – we’re actually here to tell you something.”

Ginny shows him some crime scene photos of murder vics. “These are dealers – you see their tattoo? They worked for _La Vibora._ The Viper.”

“Dunno who that is.” He fidgets.

“Well, we do – “ She smiles. “It’s you.”

Pascal hands start to shake, his mouth and eyes start to twitch. “I’m not saying anything. You guys don’t have anything on me.”

She smiles. “We’re not even gonna be the guys charging you – we’re just here to tell you that we’re handing you over to the Feds.”

Pascal starts shifting in his spot, he starts scratching his thigh. “The Feds?”

“The FBI? Remember those guys? Busted down your little online drug enterprise. Hey!” She sits up, innocently. “Aren’t you supposed to be on parole? Didn’t you just violate it by possession of a controlled substance?” She hisses, mocking concern. “And now that we’ve got all we need to prove that you are the Viper, they’re gonna be all over you. The DEA, the FBI – I hear _La Vibora_ dabbles in the arms trade, I’m thinkin’ the ATF’s gonna want in too. That’s a lot of jail time…”

“What?” Pascal jumps up, scoots closer to Ginny. “ _La Vibora’s_ been operational since before I was born, Margie. No way I’m him!”

_I’m Ginny, dumbass._

“Thought you said you didn’t know who _La Vibora_ is, _amigo_.” Livan smirks.

“Yeeeah.” She brays. “I have enough evidence here.” She throws a file in his direction. “Go ahead, take a look at it. Maybe give your lawyer a heads up, too. Doubt it’ll matter - given that he’s Violet’s man. I’m thinking you’ll be a greater liability now. You’re going to be charged in federal court – and because you violated parole, incapacitated or otherwise, they’re not going to grant you bail – chances are you’ll be spending a lot of time with Violet’s people on the inside.”

Ginny stands up and dusts her hands.  “And, you know how Violet takes care of inconveniences…” She pouts innocently. “Either way!” She chirps. “ _You_ are not our problem anymore.”

“Y-y-you can’t accuse me of being someone I’m not.”

“You can keep that.” She points to the file. “– I have copies.” She motions to Duarte and they start walking out.

“I’m not _La Vibora_!” Pascal screeches. “V-V-Violet is.”

 _That_ – well, Ginny didn’t expect that. From the looks on Livan’s face, he didn’t either.

They both turn around to look at Pascal. He’s curled up into the corner, shaking, tears streaming down his abnormally dilated eyes.  “I’ll – I’ll – talk.”

 

 

“What was in the file anyway?” Duarte asks her, motioning to it. She picked it up on the way out.

“About a hundred copies of the roster for our league softball team.” She shrugs. “What is your beef with Marguiles, anyway, why do you have him on the left field?”

Duarte shrugs his eyebrows.

“This isn’t about him being a bad player.” Ginny frowns. “This is about the girl? That PO? The one from 25?”

Duarte’s mouth twitches, his dimples start to appear, slowly. Ginny doesn’t know if she should be mortified or happy that Duarte can in fact blush.

“Isabella –“ He says, shyly. “She’s from Havana too. Her house was right across the street from mine. Never met her back there, never even knew she existed. Our families had common friends too but we never met – it’s _loco_ , ha? We meet each other for the first time out here? And we’re both cops – in the same city. What are the odds?”

Ginny bursts out laughing. She claps his back in congratulations. “What are the odds, indeed!”

“Oooh, Mami.” He hisses appreciatively. “Fake bunting, though. That was sick.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The FBI want her to go back in to The Club, as Margie. They want her to go to Vinnie and beg for her job back so she can hang around as Margie, keep an eye on things – just until they can crack down on her.

Wonderful fucking plan.

Except - she doesn’t want to have anything to do with Margie anymore.

_I’m Ginny._

Ginny’s eyes and head hurt. She wants to throw up.

“C’mon Mami…you know I got you.” Livan pleads, sitting across her.

“No!” She growls.

“Look – you’ve been working her for eleven months – a couple days ain’t gonna make a difference. Pascal’s confirmed that she doesn’t know that Margie is a cop. You believe him, _si_?”

Heavy angry tears reroute through into her nose and she sniffles them away. She starts tossing the ball upwards, in a vertical track. She leans back into her chair props her legs up, aware that Livan – and a host of other men and some women do a double take at the sight of her bare calves.

She can’t see the ball, she only sees Blip’s frustrated, anxious face when she flatly refused. No amount of pleading and begging from him or the Captain worked either.

“I won’t be able to pull it off.” She gripes. “Getting into Margie’s head is -”

“Margie isn’t real.”

_I’m Margie…Ginny. Oh god!_

She can’t deal with that voice inside her head anymore.

“Margie was real for a long time.” She says, hollowly.

“She was just a cover, Mami…”

_But, I’m Ginny. I don’t wanna be anyone but Ginny._

“The only reason that cover worked was because she was real.” Ginny hisses, throwing the ball with far too much force. Thankfully the ceiling is too high.

“No!”

“It’s just for a couple of days.”

“It’s never a couple of days – never a couple of weeks – never a couple of months. It’s always longer!”

“Mami, we can’t send anyone else.”

“Please, Papi – I can’t. I can’t be her again, you tell Blip.” Tears burn her eyes. “I can’t be Margie, again.”

“We’re there Mami, we’ve done it – “

“We ain’t done nothin’ yet.” She whispers.

“Mami.”

“Fuck off, Duarte.”

She only calls him Duarte to his face when she’s dead serious, he knows that. She refuses to look at him, keeps her neck resting against the rounded edge of the chair, tossing the ball up and down.

“At least, throw me the ball.” He asks, sweetly. “C’mon Mami, look at me.”

She doesn’t. He doesn’t leave, either. She hears him shuffle papers and retreat into silence, but she can sense him sitting across her.

She watches the ball fly up like it’s in slow motion. Rotating about its axis, cutting the air up to its maximum peak and then dropping into her hand. She does it again and watches it fall, down, down…

She reaches her hand to catch it but a larger one swipes in, stops the ball before it reaches her palm.

She wonders if she fell asleep, she wonders if she was dreaming. His hazel eyes look amber when they come in view. They appear green when his pupils fluctuate.

“Hey.” That warm, deep voice washes over her.

Ginny’s head turns in Livan’s direction. If it weren’t for the peeved look on Duarte’s face she’d still think it was a dream.

 “H-Hi.” She says. She snaps her legs down, straightens her blazer and rises to her full height.

“I uh…” He leans his hip against her desk, takes her in. Her hair is blown straight, she’s in a formal blazer and pencil-skirt today with three inch heels.

“You look nice.” He comments, looking up at her with a smile.

“Yeah – I have an important meeting today– with my superiors …”   _And the fucking FBI who want to fuck with my brain for fun -_ which she doesn’t divulge.

“Sorry, I – wanted to see you.” He whispers, rolling the ball around in his hand. “I should have called first.”

His beard seems neatly trimmed. Ginny wants to rub her face up against it - just because. She also wants him to rub it over that spot on her belly, right under her navel – the one that gets her all hot and…

“Hey! You’re Mike Lawson!” Someone announces.

People start flocking towards her desk. Before she knows it there’s a bustle of officers and civilian personnel around her.

“I can hardly believe it myself at times.” He quips with an easy smile.  

Her eyelids twitch rapidly, her head still throbbing. He’s clearly used to being surrounded by people…

…but she isn’t.

She shrinks away, slinks around her desk as uniforms and plainclothes start pressing into her personal space. Duarte is too much of an asshole to stand up or move away. In fact, he looks down right pissy. He stays put in his chair, even when her ass gets pushed into his face  thanks to the chubby detective from Robbery barreling in, leaning on his desk trying to talk to Mike.

“Hey! Get the fuck off my desk, Brody!” Duarte snarls.

“Yeah fuck you too, Duarte.”

“Your ass is kinda on his paperwork, Brody.” She says, aware that Mike’s paying heed to their interaction. “You know what –? Why don’t you go along to my side?”

Brody smiles at her and then wiggles his ass across their joined desks to get into the mini-mob that’s herding around Mike. She watches him mingle with her colleagues. His smiles are respectful and genuine. He smiles politely for the selfies, signs autographs graciously. Doesn’t show any irritation or impatience.

From somewhere they hear Blip’s voice. “Conference room in five. Baker, Duarte.” Blip orders. “Don’t dawdle – oh hey!” He spots Mike, and the gaggle around him.

“All right, all right!” Blip blares like a siren. “Break it up -! Y’all should be ashamed of yourselves! Grown-ass men and women! Behavin like a bunch of frickin’ groupies! Get back to work, now! Give the man some room to breathe! Brody stop drooling all over Mr. Lawson!”

They disperse reluctantly, Mike is left standing on her side of the desk, looking only slightly sheepish. “Yeah, I…” He smiles, sheepishly. “I…should have called.”

“What’s up, man?” Blip bumps fists with Mike. “Everythin’ alright?”

Mike’s eyes shift to her, that dark scowl suddenly crossing his face. Ginny looks down to see she’s still standing next to Duarte, hip glued up against his shoulder.

“Mr. Lawson.” Duarte mutters.

“Detective _Papi_.” He says, curtly. His eyes move back to her, his expression softens when she detaches herself from her partner.

She should find the whole possessiveness distasteful but she doesn’t. She loves that scowl – fuck, she loves everything about him.

“I uh – came to speak to Officer Baker.” Lawson tells Blip. “It’s a– uh – private matter.” Mike murmurs something to Blip that she can’t hear. Blip looks at Ginny, his expression changes.

“Okay.” Blip nods. “We have to wait for Evelyn anyway.”  He sounds less jovial when he nods at her, even gives her the gimlet-eye. “Twenty minutes, Baker.”

Ginny doesn’t miss the warning hidden in Blip’s tone.

 

 

Ginny leads him to a vacant interrogation room.

“You left really early yesterday morning.” He says, following her inside.

She shuts the door and deactivates the mic. She punches the codes to lock the doors on the observation side as well and turns off the cameras.

“And – “ He speaks, observing her actions. “You didn’t call last night.”

“Yeah – I had some work stuff.” She answers. “Like, for real, Old Man. I’m – I’m not avoiding you or anything, I really had a long shift.”

“I know.” He gives her a reassuring smirk. “That’s why – I didn’t call either, I didn’t want to disturb you.” He leans against the desk.

She turns to him, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip

“It’s just…” He sighs. “The All star break is done – I’m headed to LA for the ESPYs tonight – after that it’s the away games. Frisco and then St. Louis.” He looks up at her with a small but sincere smile. “I wanted to see you before I left.”

She nods.

“My mom dated a cop, once.” He says. “State trooper. “He was – really nice. One of the greatest guys I’ve ever known. Divorced, twice. He got knifed on the job while he and my mom were together. Scared the hell out of me to see him in a hospital like that.”

“Didn’t work out between him and your mom?” She asks, curious.

He makes a wry, ironic snorting sound. “It never worked out between anyone and my mom. The minute she had to take care of someone beyond herself and me – it became too much.”

She’d read about his childhood. Single mom, always moving around – not having much money growing up. Ginny suspects he’s being kind there. She suspects the minute his mother had to look after anyone but herself, it was already too much. She struggles to imagine Mike as a little boy ...it’s tough to imagine him as anything but this formidable giant with a beard.  

“Point is –“ He says. “I want you to know – the job, _your_ job – the hours, the danger, the stress – I get it. It’s tough.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. “I appreciate that.”

He draws in a long breath and lets it out slowly. “My job’s no cakewalk either, Baker.” He says. “It seems like fun and yeah it is – there’s fame and glory –  but there’s a lot of hard work. We’re slammed, right from spring till winter. There’s road trips, sponsors, commercial commitments. And that’s when things are going well. When things go wrong – injuries, benchings, shuffling, trades –  it’s brutal!”

She has a better idea about that than most. Pop never sugar-coated the ugly side of professional sports from her.

“But.” Mike says, somberly. “It _is_ my job – and my life. I love it. It’s not as awesome as saving lives and keeping people safe like yours but this job is all I have left. And –“ He shakes his head. “I don’t know how long I have left to play, but I’d like to get whatever I can out of it.”

“I get that.”

“Thing is – it places a huge strain on any relationship. Some of my teammates have snipey teenagers who don’t wanna have anything to do with them because Dad’s not been around enough.  And – I mean, look what it did to my marriage. Yeah – she cheated, but she also believed we had a future together at some point enough to marry me.”

She nods slowly. A strange sense of panic and darkness wrap its fingers around her heart. It beats slower and heavier.

“We barely know each other, you and I.” He smiles sadly. “The very premise under which we met was an anomaly. I don’t know if our paths would have crossed – had I not been – y’know.” He hesitates. “And you not been - Margie.”

_But, I’m Ginny._

“In fact, had you been Margie, for real – it still might have been simpler. I have things to offer for someone like Margie – freedom, money, security, glamour.” He smiles wanly. “Those are things I could provide her but – you, Ginny - I honestly don’t know if there’s anything I have to offer _you_.”

Ginny looks up at him. His irises appear an azure blue in the lights of the interrogation chamber.

“Other than my mood swings and my big dick…” He jokes bleakly.

Ginny smiles in the face of that sinking feeling in her stomach.  She swallows a dry lump.

“You’re like no other person I’ve met…” He moves forward, claps his palms lightly on her arms. “What you’re doing, what you have to take on – you kind of blow me away.”

“I – uh – understand.” She says, dropping her chin.

“Good because – then you’d get why I want this.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, bites on the corner of her mouth, feels the weight of a thousand heartaches storming behind her eyes, doesn’t look up for fear they’ll overwhelm her and spill over as tears.

“Look, I know, it’s too soon for - everything.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s unconventional. It seems like a lousy idea every rational way you look at it. It’s just -  I’ve had to give up a lot of things in life for the game and I’ve missed out on far too much in the process. I know I’m being selfish here – never let it be said that Mike Lawson thinks of anyone but himself, right?”

She nods.

“But, I don’t want to give this up - not without a fight. And I’d like to think that you wouldn’t, either.”

“Huh?”

“If you hate the house, then -  I’m looking at an apartment in the Gaslamp District. I’ve had it on my mind for a couple of weeks now. It’s not too big, but it’s pretty spacious, three bedroom – great view, great amenities – most importantly, it’s quiet and private.”

“I’m sorry, what?” She stutters.

“And if you don’t wanna live with me –“ He shrugs. “Then I’ll live with you. Wherever you chose. We can still make it work – at least…” He shrugs his shoulders. “We have to try. If – if you’re up for it.”

“Mike…” She frowns and shakes her head.

The man makes puppy-eyes at her. Like all out, wide, shiny, pathetic, innocently yearning puppy frickin’ eyes.

“Can – you at least think about it?” He begs – sounds like a child when he does.

Ginny’s stumped.

“Having complicated work hours, not being able to line up time together – that’s technicality.” He argues. “For me, a technicality is not a good enough reason for us not to happen. All I’m saying is, to figure out if there are really major life altering differences – they shouldn’t be because we didn’t get the time to work it out.”

 _‘Us’?_ “Mike…” She coughs.

“And about the other thing…the baseball.” He squeezes his temples. “I’m wasn’t joking about it the other night. About you giving yourself another chance at playing baseball professionally. I know things may not work out between us – lord knows, if anything my marriage and my knees have taught me is that there are no certainties in life – but, even if they don’t work out, I promise you, I will still get you the help you need.” He looks at her sincerely. “If you’re interested in it.”

She flattens her fingers over his mouth to stop him, the soft wispy hair ticking her finger pads. His face is shining with hope, his irises change to a golden hazel colour – as though illumined by an internal brightness she feels but cannot see. 

“You want me to move in with you?” She echoes.

His eyebrows twitch. “Yeah, what –?” He clears his throat. “What did you think I was talking about?”

If she wasn’t so dumbfucked, she’d probably be laughing with relief. Oh man. She’s fucked. About a hundred different ways in love with him and she doesn’t even know where the list begins. Her insides jump, she grins, blowing short bursts of air, and shaking her head.

He clears his throat, and folds his arms over his chest, gives her that adorable frown. “You thought I was breaking up with you.” He says, squarely.

“No.” She sucks her mouth in and looks away.

“No?” He sounds incredulous.

“Technically…” She tries very, very hard to stop her smile, her heart doing cartwheels. “We weren’t even together - so you can’t break up with me.”

He coughs a small ironic laugh and shakes his head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Baker?” He pulls her forward, kisses her forehead.

“I guess this means I have to give you my personal number.” She says, coyly, looking up at him through hooded eyes.

She pulls back when he tilts his head, angling his chin to kiss her. She pushes him back and shakes her head. “Uh uh.”

“Why can’t I kiss you? No one’s here.” He pouts, following her mouth with his. She pushes him back.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got an important meeting and you’ll mess up my hair.” She says.

He narrows his eyes at her sexily, snakes his hand around her to her posterior and squeezes her butt. “Is this where you give bad guys the third degree? It’s kinda kinky – massive turn on.”

Ginny covers her mouth and bursts into a loud laugh. Mike’s face breaks into a big grin. “There she goes.” He mumbles. “You know, Baker, horses have better…”

She punches his shoulder. “Ow!” He yelps. “Wow, this  - _this_ \- this is police brutality.”

“Not one more word out of you…” She warns him with a pointed index. “You hear? I’ve got cuffs in my drawer, I’m not afraid to use them.”

His face goes flat, his eyes darken with a look she knows pretty damn well now.

“ _Ugh!_ You’re such a perv!” She punches his chest lightly.

“Bring ‘em over, sometime.” He murmurs trying to catch her waist.

“Shut up.” She giggles, walking out of his reach.

“Yeah, why not? You can play the tough no-nonsense cop.” He suggests sensually, walking towards her. Ginny walks backwards until her back hits the wall.  “I’ll play the devilishly handsome – irresistibly sexy criminal.” He braces his palms on either side of her.

She tries, but fails - to act calm, her traitorously loud breathing gives her away. “Devilish, yes, handsome, yes – without the beard, sexy – maybe, but irresistible?” She taunts him. “No.”

He leans his head down to her neck and scrubs his beard on her spot. Ginny’s breath snags.

“I’ve been a really bad - bad boy, officer.” He whispers against her skin and licks it.

Ginny’s throat goes dry.

“Are you going to arrest me?” He murmurs, grazing his teeth against her skin. “You gonna cuff me…?” He presses soft, scruffy kisses down the column of her throat. “Maybe punish me?”

She feels sweaty.

“Or…” He leans down, pushes her blazer apart, bites at her breast over the blouse. “Maybe - get down on your knees?” 

Ginny gulps loudly, squeezing her thighs together.

“Or just to show me who’s the boss…” He breathes in the hollow of her neck.  Ginny whimpers when his hand curls over the hem of her skirt. Her legs widen, his palm slips under it. “Maybe…” His voice drops to provocatively low tones. “I’ll have to get down on mine?”

“Mike.” She whines, feeling something hot flame inside her belly and something hotter pool in her panties.

“Can I kiss you, now?” He straightens up.

She shakes her head, insistently. Doesn’t know what the point is. Her scalp feels damp already – so much for the blowout.

She gasps when his palm rides up higher.

“Oh, you’re wet.” He says – no wonder or amusement, just stating a fact, plain as day. “Maybe I should kiss you some place no one can see…?”

“Mike stop…” she squirms. Her disloyal body makes her grind her crotch over his thick hand.  “I’ve got a meeting…” She pants.

He retreats suddenly, and she almost whimpers in protest. But then, he grabs her elbow, and crudely shoves her, propelling her towards the desk. She stumbles to it clumsily, latching onto it from support, turning around to face him. He doesn’t seem concerned about manhandling her like that. He doesn’t even have a smile on his face.

He looks hungry – menacingly so, when he crowds her against the desk. She tries shrug off her jacket but Mike stops her.  “Keep it on. Shoes too.” He doesn’t even speak gently, he’s more authoritative, all Captain-of-the- _Padres_. His eyes sweep down her body rapaciously. Ginny’s mouth feels about ten times drier.

“I’ll be quick.” He promises. She darts her tongue over her lips. His eyes darken at the sight.

She hitches up her skirt and hops over the edge of desk without a word, rolling her shoulders back, resting her body on outstretched palms, pulling her hips apart. His rough palms swipe over her calves, pinch the skin under her knees, skate up her bare thighs over the side of her ass, reaching to roll her panties down. Ginny lifts her hips and wets her mouth watching him tug them down and stuff them into his back pocket.

“No one can come in, right?” He looks up at her, dropping to his knees and grabbing her thighs. “Even on the other side?”

“Nope.” She croaks, angling her pelvis downwards, splitting herself wide open for him, resting her ass at the edge, gripping at edges of the table. Her own scent wafts up, tickles her nose. 

She flags a concern when she notices the way he shifts his weight. “Mike…your knees.”

“All good.” He murmurs, and bends forward, bites at her inner thigh. Her body jolts forward. He licks hard, trailing the warm, fat part of his tongue towards her middle.

Ginny’s first gasp – is - as it always is: loud and surprised. It’s cracked mid-way by the second gasp when he licks her again, harder. She hums when his mouth clamps over her, clit getting sucked in, the sharp tip of his nose nuzzling against the plump mound above it, beard scraping against the delicate folds.

Her elbows buckle and jaw slacks. Ginny’s thighs quiver, shaking over his ears. He hooks his elbows under her knees, keeping them apart. “ _Fuck_! Ginny.” She hears him mutter, as he comes up for breath and then ducks down again, running his tongue along the seam between her folds. She jerks herself towards him, falling back at an angle, one elbow trembling under her upper body weight, other hand fisting into his hair.

It’s not fun and games this time; no puns, not jokes, no jibes and zero gentleness to his actions. Mike Lawson means serious business when he eats her out.

She struggles to keep control on the intensity of her moaning. There are occupied interrogation rooms on the one side, with some perp sweating in his seat. There’s a vending machine and coffee station on the other side, where no doubt her colleagues will be lurking. She wonders if they’ll break the door down if she lets it rip at full volume to find her like this, split wide open, Mike’s head between her thighs, his tongue insinuating deep into her body.

Then he adds his fingers. Her ankles lock around his neck, the pointy heels poking into his back. She hopes he’s not possessive about that button down in case it rips – she also hopes she doesn’t suffocate him, given the vice-like throttle her thighs have around his moving head.

As the wave of pleasure ripples - she doesn’t care so much anymore. She’s in a police precinct anyway. She can just surrender herself to the cop next door if she smothers Mike Lawson to death. 

She comes hard and quick, biting down on her bottom lip to hold back the growl, hips working furiously into his face.

“Fuck, that was hot!” He gasps – hissing as he stands up. She sees him wince, shaking out his knees. His face puffy, pink – cum glistening in his beard.

She sits up – still vibrating from her climax, a metallic taste in her mouth from when her teeth drew blood off her lip. She grabs the waistband of his jeans with trembling fingers and pulls him forward.

“Like this or from behind?” She wheezes, fumbling with the buttons, her wrists grazing against that boner straining against his fly.

“Gin – we don’t have to…ah _fuck_!” He hisses as she yanks his hard member out in her hand. “ _Babe!_ C’mon!”

He’s oozing already. She smears the glossy precum along the shaft, stroking him rough and hard, jacking him off and greasing his dick at the same time as he ruts into her hand. She looks up at his face – and god, that greedy expression makes her cunt drip with need.

“No time for chit chat.” She husks. “I have – a meeting with the FBI soon.” She gives him her serious-face. His eyes are almost black and somehow what she says makes them go darker. “And we’re planning the take down of a very dangerous person.” She twists her mouth in a naughty smirk. She swallows hard. “So – you need to decide…” She almost whispers. “If you want me like this, or from behind? Like – right now.”

“Turn around.” He says, even before she catches her breath.

Ginny’s body is buzzing with the afterglow and anticipation at once.

“I don’t have a…” He’s already shoving the skirt and the tails of her blazer over her waist, hands mapping out her ass and thighs.

“Yeah – you’re good.” She sighs, bending over, leaning her weight on her elbows. She turns around, listening to the light clinking and shuffling sounds of him shoving his jeans down.

“Blip’ll be down here breaking the door down any second if I don’t report back. So, hard and fast, okay?”

“Fuck, you can’t talk like that to me, Gin. I’ll cum right here.” He pinches her ass and smacks it softly.

Ginny grunts, falls forwards on the table, pushing her hips and ass out, all but presenting it to him for the taking. “Then cum inside me.” She growls softly.

She feels him between her thighs sliding up into her rough and almost punitively, without delay. She whines long and hard, falling forwards, slamming her forehead on the desk as everything throbs.

“Shut up.” He commands – gasping at the same time. And really, who’d have thought she’d get off on him being so rough 'n' tough. He’s inside her, naked, unsheathed – hot, intense, deep, so intimately fused with her, flesh to flesh.

“Oh fuck!” He hisses, long and rough.  “Shit. Shit. Shit!” He gasps. “God, you feel so good, Gin.” She hears his gulp.

She rises on her elbows, moaning, and shimmying around till she feels him shoved deep inside. His head is right up at that spot. She knows because her body is droning with excitement already.  “C’mon.” She hurries.

He pulls out and thrusts at her once. The table rattles softly. She hums and slaps her head down on the table. He doesn’t dally after that. He fucks her swiftly; one hand grabbing her ass, the other furiously working at her clit. She thrusts back trying to ride him. More than once she feels him grab her hair and then release it instantly – like he’s remembering what she told him. Ginny almost laughs – because even when he’s like this he’s so considerate. Even if it is pointless - her blow-out is probably wrecked,

“Fuck me harder, Mike,” she begs – "...please."

And he does. And it hurts – just this side of good. And, it’s amazing.

The table rattles softly, she stretches her arms out for purchase, lets him take her with all that unbridled ferocity. Ginny’s only regret about the vigorousness is that she can’t see his face, or grab his ass the way she likes to – especially when he’s close. That's when he's more demanding and less unselfish, untamed, teetering on the precipice of being completely unhinged, chasing after his own satisfaction, simply consuming her in the process.

The sound she makes get shriller and more nasal, the sound of his balls slapping against her only hastens her peak.  He wraps one arm around her waist, pulling her spine up against his chest, grabbing at her boobs, messing up her blouse.

His rabid breathing echoes in her head, he licks the back of her ear, covers her mouth with the other hand, slipping his forefinger through the corner of her lips.

That’s when she knows she’s getting too loud. She thinks it’s so sweet that he can think enough to care. She sucks his finger, bites on down his fat knuckle at the same time, because she needs, _needs_ \-  to scream.  She keels over the edge only a few seconds before him – that insanely maddening furore storming through her veins spreading slowly but powerfully. He growls out, muffled and fierce – an urgent throaty sound through clenched teeth. It resonates in her ear just before he spills inside her at the peak of his last grinding thrust.

Ginny cries with relief and slumps down on the table, her lungs burning. His upper body flops on her back. His unbelievably warm, unbelievably thick cum dripping down her thighs.

 

_There was a girl named Ginny. Her father was Bill Baker. When she was little, she picked up a baseball and threw it at her Pop. He saw something in her that no one could imagine. He saw the dream before it was even hers._

_The dream - the major leagues. Like Jackie Robinson, like Mike Lawson._

 

She whimpers when he pulls out her – all the burning wetness between her ass and thighs, cooling and drying on her skin under the ambient air-conditioned air.

Her clothes are probably a mess. Her skirt is definitely crumpled, her blazer is definitely creased. Her blouse feels soaked with sweat and really – all that only means her painfully achieved blowout is probably frizzing up like it was hit by high voltage. 

Also, she’s probably late for the meeting.

 “I – uh – I have to go.” She tells Mike, nonetheless, still under his weight, face flat on the table, her lower body writhing involuntarily.

“Yeah.” He coughs and laughs at the same time into her hair.

 

_But the dream didn’t come easy. When she was a teenager she had to choose. A glove or a dress. To have everything but baseball or only baseball. She chose baseball. She chose the dream._

_And then Pop died._

_Pop died._

_He died._

_And, somehow the dream didn’t make sense any more._ _Sometimes the girl wonders if it really was her dream in the first place._ _Nothing felt right outside of the dream. Nothing felt right, ever again._

 

Nothing ever feels right.

Except him.

Mike.

Once an untouchable idea, a poster on her wall, but now here – this wonderful, lovable man, surrounding her. He makes her feel like she’s supposed to be who she is.

He grabs her chin and Ginny twists back, mouth open and ready to be kissed, he brushes his beard on her lips.

“Can I kiss you now?” He asks, huffing and chuckling against her mouth.

Ginny smiles.

Everything feels just like it’s meant to be

 


	8. Union

One cannot just fuck, doggy-style or otherwise, in an interrogation room of a police precinct and not expect to get caught. Even if one didn’t have rotten luck. 

And Ginny always had rotten luck.

“I gotta tell ya.” Mike guffaws when Ginny hands him a whole box of tissues to clean up. “I never imagined there would be tissues in here.”

“Lot of people sweat like crazy, here.” Ginny explains.  “Don’t even get me started about the weepers.” 

He kisses her gently, after they clean up. “Promise me you’ll think about what I said?” He says, before they’re ready to head out. “About moving in?”

She nods with a smile, opens the door wearing that smile – only to have it wiped off her face at the sight of Blip Sanders leaning on the wall, arms folded, face livid with disapproval.

 “Officer Baker.” Blip says, looking at her straight in the eyes. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on between you and him? Or do I have to twist _his_ arm. Because _he’ll_ sing like a canary. Trust me, he is not as tough as he looks.”

In Ginny’s defence of what tumbles out of her mouth, she’s sort of blissed out – _and_ , she’s got the sex hair to prove it. “I know, right?” She cackles. “He also bruises really easy.”

That growling sound Blip makes alerts her to the follies of being stupidly unconcerned about consequences. Mike – of course, the smug adorable hairy bastard that he is -  has a goofy, sex-happy, equally unconcerned smirk all over his face.

“Um, we may uh - ” She regroups, tries to look apologetic. “have – sorta being– doing _stuff_ in there.” She jabs her thumb in the direction of the interrogation room behind them.

“Look at you two lovebirds, all happy and satisfied.” Blip gives her a big, sarcastic smile. “And here I thought you were discussing the State of the Union.”

Ginny crosses her arms and gives Blip a look which has him switch promptly to angry-face.

“Not only is that inappropriate and unacceptable behaviour for an officer of the law – which _you_ are, it is also ‘Conduct Unbecoming’! Subject to disciplinary action. I’m talking suspension here, Baker!”  

Ginny looks down feeling much like a teenager caught in the act - which in many ways, she was.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

Ginny sighs.

“Officer Baker?” Blip persists.

“Mike and I…” She says, scuffing her heel on the floor. “Are seeing each other.”

Blip’s shoulders droop and he squeezes his nose. “As of when?” Blip rubs his eyebrows.

“As of now - officially.” Ginny says.

“Oh, we’re official, now?” Mike teases. “How come I didn’t get the press release?”

“Shut up.” She giggles, swatting his chest. She looks at Blip and squares her jaw. “That’s all there is.”

“That’s all there is?”

“Yes.”

“And there is nothin’ else you wanna tell me?”

“Well, we might have met when I was undercover.”

Blip’s eyes bulge. Mike clears his throat.

“Remember the party – at -” Ginny widens her eyes at Blip hoping he’ll fill in the blanks mentally.

Blip frowns and then nods like things are dawning on him. “I always wondered how you snuck the phone out.” He whines, “tell me you did not compromise the integrity of an operation underway for almost a year -!”

“No.” Ginny says, fiercely. “And he didn’t – ask anything.” She looks up at him fondly – finds him looking down at her with a similar emotion mirrored on his face. “He’s been great like that.” She adds softly.

Blip look like he’s debating if she’s telling the truth and then nods like he’s satisfied.  “Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Baker, you just mocked the sanctity of this police precinct by having a sexual encounter in a room meant for interviewing suspects and witnesses –" he makes a grossed out face. “Don’t you realize…”

“Oh! Don’t be so melodramatic!” She bursts out. “ _Sanctity of the precinct_ \- !” She huffs indignantly. “I know, for a fact, you and Evelyn got it on in here –” She smiles confidently and adds. “Twice.”

Blip’s face changes. Mike starts to guffaw.

“You shut up!” Blip barks at him and Mike promptly does.

Blip glowers at Ginny for a while.  “Dammit, Evie.” He mutters and wagging his head.

“Hey, don’t put this on her!” Ginny defends. “As though you weren’t a party to all the _sexual encounters_. She only told me about the one time. The other one, though…!” She whistles through her teeth. 

“The other one what?” Blip frowns.

“I mean, at least I had the sense to ensure the cameras were off.” She rolls her eyes and mumbles.

“The cameras were….” Blip looks panicked. “Say what?”

“Yeah, I mean c’mon Blip, they’re always on – even when the rooms are unoccupied– I thought you’d know that, seeing as you’re an experienced senior detective – of the sergeant-level.”

Blip’s jaw is pretty damn close to the floor now. “Who else knows…?” He stutters.

“Duarte and I had to buy Ramone six lunches to get him to keep his trap shut.”

“Sergeant Ramone?”

“Yeah!” She nods, emphatically. She looks up at Mike and whispers. “That guy’s in charge of _all_ internal security on this floor, including monitoring the CCTV feeds.” Ginny looks at Blip and adds, “Common knowledge for those of us who _work_ in this sanctified place. Except, _maybe_ you weren’t exactly thinking with your brain at the time, to remember that? If you catch my drift?”

The colour drains from Blip’s face.

“Is that why he was blowin’ raspberries that week?” Blip says, hollowly.

Ginny covers her mouth, sniggering uncontrollably.

“Raspberries?” Mike asks.

“Blip – and Evie have this thing where they…” Ginny starts to explain.

“None of your damn business.” Blip growls.

Mike starts sputtering with sniggers. “This place is a lot of fun.” He comments. “I should come by more often.”

“You shut your mouth All-Star. I should arrest your ass for seducing my rookie.” Blip barks.

“I’m not your rookie anymore.” Ginny cries.

“And I didn’t seduce her.” Mike mumbles. “It was the other way around.”

Ginny elbows him, he elbows her back.

“You my rookie always!” Blip hollers.

Mike throws his palms up defensively.

“So…” She drawls, puffing up her cheeks.

Blip looks like he’s still reeling.  “Make sure, it never happens again, Baker.” He says.

“Yes sir.” She grins.

“Go fix yourself and get your hiny to the conference room, we’re already late.”

“Yes sir.”

“And thank you.” He mutters. “I’ll pay you and Duarte back for the…lunches.”

Ginny stifles her giggle. “Not a problem, sir.”

“I’m going to escort your _boyfriend_ out and give him the talk.”

“What talk?” Mike asks.

“The ‘I’ll break your bones if you break her heart’ talk.” Blip growls. “The ‘don’t you ever pull that shit in a police precinct again’ talk.”

“It’s all bluster.” She whispers. “Just nod and pretend like you’re really scared.” She kisses Mike’s cheek. “Good luck for all the away games, Old Man.”

Mike smiles at her fondly, pecks her on the lips and follows Blip.

 

 

 

Noelle eyes her frizzy hair suspiciously, handing her a dry shampoo without Ginny even asking for it.

Ginny knew that Noelle keeps a portable steam press in her locker and meant to borrow it to make her blazer and skirt look presentable. What she didn’t know was the woman also kept a plethora of beauty products as well. She ended up borrowing some compact and a really interesting shade of lipstick as well.

 “Can they force me go back under? Like – I mean is it legally binding or something?” Ginny asks, as she changes out of her sweat-soaked blouse. The spare one she keeps in her locker is not exactly appropriate for a formal meeting but it’ll have to make do.

“They can’t force you to do anything.” Noelle reassures her. “Are you and Duarte doing it?”

“What? No!” Ginny hisses. “Why does every body think that?”

“I meant – going under again.” Noelle looks uncomfortable. “You and Latin-Lothario getting it on in the precinct are none of my concern. As long as you don’t do it in my face and it doesn’t interfere with your work.  Especially, when you ride with me.”

“Latin-Lothario and I are not getting it on in the precinct!”

“Mmhmm” Noelle eyes her cheeks and shrugs. Ginny looks in the mirror and sees that embarrassingly obvious post-sex glow glaring on her face, belaying the need for blusher.

“ _Ugh_ , I can’t wait for this damn operation to be done.” Ginny mutters, spraying up her hair with the dry shampoo and combing it down till it gets her wild mane into a state where she can fix it into a bun.

“I don’t know – civvies look more your style.” Noelle remarks. “You sure you wanna get back to being a uniform?”

“The uniform helps me feel like I’m a cop.” Ginny says. “Y’know what I’m sayin’?”

“Better than most.” Noelle gives her one of her rare smiles. She stands up and checks her appearance in the mirror, re-tucking her uniform shirt into the pants and adjusting her duty rig. “You have the makings of detective, though. I’m not saying that because I wanna be rid of you. In fact, you’re one of the best junior partners I’ve had till date.”

Ginny knows compliments like that don’t come easy. “Thanks Noelle.”

“Baker – you gotta remember that the cover is just a show. You might have had to slip into that person for a while, but it doesn’t change the real you – not unless you let it.” Noelle says.

Ginny nods.

“I know the lines get blurred.” Noelle says. “I had to see the police shrink after my biggest op. There’s no shame in asking for help if you need it. And I won’t presume to tell you what you should do. I don’t know enough about you and I know zilch about the operation. But – there is one thing I would ask myself when I was faced with a dilemma such as yours…”

“Which is?”

“What is for the greater good?”

Ginny pinches her bottom lip.

“Is it for the greater good if you go under, maybe see it through?” Noelle continues. “Or is it for the greater good if you don’t – because if your head isn’t right in a high-stress situation like that, you’d do more harm than good.”

Ginny nods.

“Who are you?” Noelle asks her, pointing to the mirror. “What do you see when you look in the mirror? You see the cop or the cover?”

Ginny looks at the mirror and sees the same things she always does. Neither a cop, nor Margie – she sees a failed ballplayer, hiding under the guise of a patchwork-person whom she doesn’t recognize.

“Before you move back into the uniform, honey.” Noelle says, noting the way Ginny averts her eyes. “You need to figure out who it is that wears it.”

Ginny contemplates over what Noelle says and nods gratefully. She’s about to ask her for some advice on how to refuse the FBI’s request without seeming brazen, but the locker room door bursts open and Evelyn Sanders storms inside.

Ginny had passed her while she was on her way to get fixed up. Evelyn had her game face on at the time. She barely nodded at Ginny, just marched off determinedly as though she was either planning the destruction of someone that threatened her kids or she was about to tear a defence apart in court. 

That was all of about fifteen minutes back.

“Y-You and - and _Mike_?” She explodes.

Clearly, she’s had a tête-à-tête with her husband. Right now, Evelyn’s eyes are wide and her face is filled with mirth.

“Er…”

“Ohmigod! I can’t believe it! This is so awesome!” Evie squeals and jogs in her spot, her heels pattering like a tap-dancer. “Wh-when - and _where_? How many times?” She adds that last bit with a desperate growl.

“Evelyn, we have a meeting with the FBI…”

Noelle looks mortified. Evidently, she’s never seen Evelyn in screechy-girlfriend mode

Evie shrieks at ear-drum ripping volumes and hugs Ginny, jumping for joy. “Does the carpet match the face? Did he take you in his oversized beefy arms?” Evelyn demands, forcefully dipping Ginny. “Did he deep dip you like this and devour your lips with passionate hunger? Does the beard get in the way?”

Both trip – because, let’s face it, Evelyn’s tiny and there was no way she could hold Ginny’s heavier frame for long. 

“Evie, shush!” Ginny casts an embarrassed glance at Noelle.

“Is it true what they say about his junk?” Evelyn murmurs, darting her eyes downwards, meaningfully.

“Ew! Evie!” Ginny squeals. “I’m not gonna tell _you_ anything!”

Noelle looks freaked out, she widens her eyes and makes a hasty retreat. Evelyn seems oblivious to Noelle’s discomfort and not too overly concerned about her departure. She scampers to lock the door after the senior copper leaves.

“Don’t worry about her.” Evelyn rambles. “Noelle Best is most discreet officer on the force. Besides she doesn’t care. Also, she owes me - I introduced her to her husband!” She gasps for breath through the ranting and then squeals. She grabs Ginny by the shoulders and rattles her body like she's a salt-shaker.

“I want details!” Evelyn jumps. “Vivid, _electrifying_ , details!”

Ginny is – literally - seeing stars by the time Evelyn stops racking her

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

“Hi, it’s me. Um – this is my personal number.”

 _“Finally!”_ He sounds happy. _“Geez! If I’d have known all it took was a quickie in the sanctity of a police precinct!”_

Ginny giggles. “How’d the ESPYs go?”

_“Boring as fuck. No one gave me any awards.”_

“You weren’t even nominated!”

_“Yeah, don’t you think they should give me one just for making an appearance?”_

Ginny’s sides hurt from laughing. “You’re so full of yourself.”

_“Never said I wasn’t.”_

“I’ll bet you were that kid at the party who couldn’t stand the fact that no one had any presents for you–” She clucks her tongue. “Even though it was someone else’s birthday.”

It appears he doesn’t have a witty comeback. _“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.”_ He says, after a short pause.

“Mike?”

 _“I uh – didn’t really go to that many birthday parties when I was a kid.”_ He sounds deadpan. _“So, I really wouldn’t know.”_

Ginny knows she’s overstepped, hit some raw nerve that's not ready to addressed. She's curious and guilty at the same time.

 _“You know the most interesting thing that happened at the ESPYs?”_   His tone and attitude do a complete one-eighty – like he wants to avoid a conversation before it starts. “ _Rachel showed up with - the guy. I got hounded by a bunch of stupid questions about the divorce. And I’m like all –_ ‘oh, we’re still friends and what not’ _– usual shit that I’m supposed to say. And then, this one dumbass from the National Enquirer is like – Prove it. Call her here and take a picture with her. I swear to god, Baker – I was ready to sock that motherfucker right in his face!”_

“I’m sorry, Old Man.”

_“No, it’s fine. Amelia shut him down before it started. She has the instincts of a guard dog for such things.”_

“I guess I appreciate her for that.”

_“How’d it go –? Your meeting?”_

“It was –” Ginny sighs. “I don’t know – they -uh- want me to go back under, as Margie.”

She hears a sharp intake of breath from his end.

_“Ginny – the Penguin? This – dangerous criminal you are after. Is it who I think it is?”_

“Probably.”

 _“Fuck!”_ He’s almost inaudible. _“It sort of hit me while I was driving down to LA. I mean, the party – your job at_ The Club _– everything! It just made sense!”_

“We can’t talk about it, Mike.”

_“I know, Baker, but just tell me - how bad is she? On a scale of one to ten.”_

“I dunno – a hundred?”

_“Fuuuuck! I’m sorry, Baker. I really am. I honestly didn’t know.  I had no clue – I swear.”_

“You and all of San Diego.” Ginny says.

_“I don’t think Amelia knows, either. She handles Violet Gleason’s publicity. Look, I know she’s a hardass and doesn’t understand boundaries, but Amelia’s heart is in the right place, she’s a good person. She would never take on an account without absolute surety of the person she represents.”_

“I believe you.”

_“Was – she the one who gave you that nasty gash on your cheek? Remember when you warned me about Vincent?_

“Yes.”

_“When Vinnie recommended the escort agency…I assumed, he just knew about it, casually. There’s no record of either him or his Mom having a stake in the agency, Baker. I had it checked out.”_

“I know. That’s why the whole op is so sensitive, Mike. That’s why I can’t talk details with you.”

_“It’s like there’s this guy – your neighbour. You’ve known him for years and he’s always been this model-person…a saint! You’ve even been to his house a couple of times – and then one day the cops bust him. Turns out he’s a serial killer, mutilated bodies in the basement and all. The whole damn time - right under your nose!”_

Ginny sighs.

_“How do you do it? Deal with such scum?”_

“Well, the good ones make it worthwhile.” Ginny smiles, thinking of the night she met Mike. “It is for the greater good at the end of the day.”

 _“You are my hero, Ginny Baker.”_ He sounds impish and serious at the same time.

“Yeah, you should totally have me up on your wall.”

_“Absolutely.”_

“I’ll send a poster.” She teases.

 _“Have_ _you up on a wall…”_ There’s a mischievous hint to his voice. _“…up against a wall…have you all night…”_

Ginny giggles, and shakes his head. “You sure your knees can handle that, Old Man? Rumours are they’re going to first base you!”

She hears his booming chuckle. Ginny smiles. “How are your knees – for real?”

_“Well, the rumors are true. They’re gonna Wally Pip me.”_

“Who’s Wally Pip?”

_“Skip keeps arguing it’s not a Wally Pip thing but anyway you put it it’s really kinda…”_

She pulls up Wikipedia on her browser amid his tirade and starts reading aloud. “…Hmm, that’s who Wally Pip is!” She remarks just as he concludes his ranting

 _“How can you love baseball and not know who Wally Pip is?”_ He sounds incredulous.

“I was born in 1992.”                         

He snorts. _“Try watching some Ken Burns.”_

She clucks her tongue loudly, so he can hear it.

_“Do you want go back under?”_

“I don’t know.”

_“Would I be a dick boyfriend if I asked you not to do it?”_

“Probably.”

_“I’ll still ask, Gin.”_

“It is my job, Mike.”

_“I know – Baker. I hate the idea of it. But, if that’s how it is, then I’ll have to live with it. You do whatever you have to. Just be safe, please.”_

“You’re really going all out on the whole perfect boyfriend thing, aren’t you?”

She hears a high pitch exaggerated gasp. _“Did you just call me a perfect boyfriend?_

Ginny regrets it instantly.

_“Shall I compare myself to a summer’s day…”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“ _Every_ minute…” Blip bites out his words, loud and emphatic “…you waste deliberating on this, our window of opportunity narrows, the chance of our investigation leaking gets higher, and Violet Gleason slips further and further away.”

The ASAC is not too intimidated by Blip’s outburts. The lead special agent, Wasserman just rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.” He says.

“Am I?” Blip snaps. “ _Am I_?”

No one from their end makes any move to curb him. Not even the deputy or the assistant chiefs.

“You didn’t believe she was a high society Madam, that she was responsible for the murders of three young women in her employ, so we got you proof. That wasn’t good enough.” Blip starts belting it out. “You didn’t believe that she was serving as an intermediary for the distribution of a highly dangerous illicit substance, marketing it to the elite upper-class _and_ to professional athletes – so we got you proof. Also, not good enough. We’ve have proven direct association with Violet and _La Vibora_ ’s second in command -  not good enough.  Now we’ve got a signed testimony from a dealer -  attesting to her being the infamous _La Vibora_ – a dangerous drug baron that no one has seen, no one can identify - who has eluded multiple federal agencies for years -   _to this day_.” Blip concludes. “And that’s _still_ not good enough.”

“Detective…” Wassermann placates. “It still makes no sense for her to be _La_ …”

“The only reason!” Blip shouts. “You _failed_ to connect the dots – is because you couldn’t imagine that _La Vibora_ could be a woman!” He snorts indignantly. “I guess it’s good to know that my partner isn’t the only object of your condescending sexism.”

Wasserman glances at Ginny. “I was only joking that one time.” He placates, alluding to the ridiculous comment he’d made in one of the earlier meetings that Ginny wouldn’t dignify by remembering.

“Observe and report?” Blip’s voice is rudely high. “ _Observe and report_? What the fuck do you think she’s been doing all this time? Do you know how dangerous it is to go undercover in an organized prostitution ring operated by a powerful and influential person? What did you think it was? A scene out of _Pretty Woman_? Richard Gere type vanilla johns? Candy and flowers?”

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

“All this while….” Blip sits back, sighing angrily. “I have been tryin’ to maintain a peaceful pro-active relationship, our cooperation for yours. I even tried to convince a hardworking dedicated officer to do your bidding, even tried to unfairly compel her, thinking _you_ had a solid plan of attack in the works.”  He points to Ginny. “And she would have agreed – you know why? Because she’s a soldier, she trusts her superiors – and that’s me! Not you!” He looks back at Wasserman. “Now – I’m seein’ that y’all are just a bunch of friggin’ bureaucrats using ‘red tape’ as the excuse for just sittin’ on yo’ asses!”

The ASAC looks annoyed, he looks at the Captain thinking that he’ll put a leash on Blip. “He can’t speak to us like that.” He asserts when Bellamy appears impassive.

“Okay fine, I’ll speak.” Bellamy shrugs nonchalantly, and jerks his head at Blip. “What he said.”

Ginny has the urge bump her fist in the air and yell ‘burrrn!’ when she sees the stuffed looks on their faces.

“She _is_ not going back in.” Blip declares before the agent can react. “Violet is a vicious criminal. She is a pimp, a drug magnate and a murderer! She’s got dirty cops, feds included, on her payroll. We conducted this investigation with the utmost secrecy with minimal man power and resources. Do y’all have any idea how tough that is? We don’t get funded like you do! And after all that -  you want Baker to go back in just to _observe and fucking report?_   I am sorry, but y’all just lost my trust.”

That perturbs Wasserman, he turns to the Assistant Chief. The Chief shrugs. “Officer Baker has done more work that we could ask of her – at great risk to her safety. I’m not going to expose her to any undue harm.”

“In fact…” Evelyn adds, once a tense silence falls on the room. “The SDPD have shown nothing but exemplary resourcefulness and courage under duress. The evidence is clean, meticulously collected and…” Evie switches to Mom mode. “It’s just sittin’ there for you damn fools and y’all are out pickin’ the nitty gritties like my fussy ol’ mother-in-law.”

If Blip takes offense at the jibe at his ovebearing mom, he doesn’t show it.

“So, if the DOJ wants to sit on its ass – that’s fine.” Evelyn sits back. “The City has enough to prosecute her. Consider this a courtesy call because all my superiors are completely behind me on this one.”

Wasserman lets out a hiss of frustration and then wheels his chair to face Ginny.

“Look,” He says in a smaller voice. “I know what this feels like. You do all the hard work, and then we swoop in and try to take all the credit. I’m not trivializing it. This investigation was better planned and executed at your end than ours and you have done exemplary work.” He pauses for a second. “But that’s not what this is about. All evidence we have gathered over _twenty-five years_ suggests that La Vibora grew up as a street thug in Columbia. That La Vibora was a ‘he’ not a ‘she’. Violet was born to wealthy Irish family in Boston. There’s no reason for her to be La Vibora.”

“Why are you telling us this now?” Blip’s changes to that sarcastically sweet tone. “What about all those lovely long walks on the beach we’ve been having during the last month and half – all the plannin’ and the task forcing and the inter-agency cooperation?”

“Because…” Wasserman looks at him frustrated. “It was need to know. And now, I feel you need to know.” The man spins to Ginny. “If we get it right – and she’s the Viper - there’s a good chance we won’t find out where she hides her lesser known but more heinous skeletons.”

“Like what?”

“Human trafficking.”

Ginny gasps.

“Women, little children. They’re stowed away somewhere – and we can’t seem figure out Viper’s warehouse. _If_ she’s the Viper and we arrest her, she’ll give the kill order, at once.”

Ginny shudders.

“And, if we get it wrong…” He says. “Then _La Vibora_ goes offline for another five years. It’s how he operates whenever we get too close. All leads go dead, and we’re stuck right back at square one.”

Ginny sighs, she glances at Duarte. He shakes his head, pleading with his eyes for her not to agree.

“We’ll give you everything we have on the Viper.” He says. “But – we need to be absolutely sure about this one. There is a moral and ethical imperative that we are.”

“Ginny, you don’t have to nothin’.” Blip spits. The Captain and the Assistant Chief nod.

Ginny wets her mouth, feeling numb and tired. “I need – some time.” She says. “To think.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

_“Hey it’s me.  I’m at the airport. Flight to San Fran leaves in about twenty minutes.”_

“I thought you were leaving straight after the ESPYs?”

 _“The plan was to come back to San Diego for the weekend. But there’s all the divorce settlement meetings. I had to go see my pain in the ass ex-wife who is just hell bent on ruining my life, even though we’re no longer married! She wants me to go through my things…y’know._ Tsk _! Before she sells them! What she really wants to do is get back together with me. I mean, why did god make me so damn appealing to women? It’s like – it’s a curse, Baker, it really is…!”_

If Ginny had been in a feistier mood she’d have expressed umbrage.

“Umm, Lawson?” She cuts him off mid-rant.

 _“Yeah, babe?”_ He says, placatingly, like he’s picking up on the seriousness of her tone. _“Look, I was just jokin’ about Rachel wanting me back thing…”_

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” She dismisses it. “I uh – kinda wanna see you. I know you have back to back games but I was hoping I could maybe spend some time with you, maybe for a couple of hours?

There’s a long silence.

“Is that okay? You can tell me if you don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

More silence.

“Mike?”

_“Hang on. I’m just searching for the iPad. I think I stuck it in at the bottom.”_

“Why?”

_“Duh! To check my schedule. They’ll let me borrow the charter. Is Saturday okay? The game’s in the morning and I can fly straight after –  game on Sunday’s in the afternoon anyway so…”_

“You’d do that for me?”

_“Why wouldn’t I?”_

 “Wow. Mike. No.”

 _“What? You just told me that…”_ He cuts off abruptly and lets out an irritated sigh. _“You’re not gonna ask me if I did this for all the girls I’ve dated, are you?”_

She wants to, that’s the problem. _I guess, I’m petty, like that_ – she wants to say as well.

 _“Only for Rachel, but not every time.”_ He answers before she can repudiate. _“Maybe not enough.”_

“Well – you don’t have to do it for me. I’ll come there.”

_“But I wanna.”_

“No, Mike –  I think I need to get away from San Diego just for a little bit, ‘s all.”

_“Sounds serious, Gin.”_

“It is.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

“That’s quite a distance to go for a booty call.” Blip sulks.

“No, it’s not!” Evelyn barks, she looks at Ginny through the rear-view mirror. “You gotta do what you gotta do to attend to your needs, Gin. Helpin’ yourself’ll only take you so far.”

“Evie –” Blip argues.

“Hey!” She scolds her husband. “You don’t get to judge! Remember when you were in the minors? I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to fly across the country whenever I needed me some Sanders love! And don’t even get me started on the dry spells during all your tats’n’leather UC phase with the Gangs unit? I almost jumped the pizza guy once!” She smiles at Ginny through the rear-view mirror. “He had the exact same buzz cut as Blip was wearin’ those days.”

Ginny zones out as a heated argument starts between husband and wife.

Avoiding a lecture from Blip, is why she asked Evelyn to drive her to the airport. Specifically, for that reason. Except, Blip decided he was going to accompany them. And now Ginny’s sitting in the back seat like a frumpy teenager watching her parents fight.

“Look – I just wanna get away from the city for a bit.” Ginny shouts, attempting to declare a time-out. “I’ve never really gone anywhere since I moved here – Blip. It’s just a break.”

“Don’t mind him, Ginny – !” Evelyn announces, in a tone that leaves no room for continuing the argument because she decided it. “He’s just being an’ old fart.”

“I am _tryin’_ to look out for her.” Blip argues – sounding very much like grumbling old fart. “She’s facing a _huge_ decision, and she wants to go all the way to San Francisco to work it out in Mike’s bed!” Blip glances back at her. “I’ve known Mike a long time, Ginny. Rachel was the one and only woman he ever loved faithfully. I cannot imagine what he went through when she left…”

Thereby, he just confirmed Ginny’s doubts that Blip and Evelyn have long known the real reason for Mike’s divorce. She wonders why it is that neither of the Sanders have never mentioned how close they were with Mike all these years.  Though, she isn’t sure if it matters. In a way, she’s grateful she never met him before that fated night.

“…and as much as I’d be happy for him to move on,” Blip continues. “I’d rather he worked out his issues with one of his bimbos. But no! He wants to jump headfirst into a relationship – with none other than my rookie!” He looks at his wife. “It’s a recipe for disaster. Tell me this doesn’t bother you, Evie.”

Evelyn sighs. “She’s a grown woman, Blip. And you and I both know Mike Lawson’s a decent guy. Okay? Stay out of it!”

“Yeah, stay out of it, Blip!” Ginny repeats.

“I just don’t want you to get your heart broken.” Blip grouses, just as they pull up into the terminal. “Excuse me for caring.”

Blip petulantly refuses to get out of the car to give her a hug, muttering incessantly and vociferously like a grumpy ol’ geezer. Evelyn gets out, shaking her head, and repeatedly rolling her eyes at her husband.

“Hey!” Evelyn whispers to her when she hugs her. “He may say all these things - but you oughta know, Blip wasn’t exactly _entirely_ on board with Mike marrying Rachel Patrick in the first place. I don’t think he ever told Mike, though.”

“What?” Ginny exclaims softly, as she pulls back.

“He always told me that she and Mike didn’t share the connection. And you know how superstitious he is. He still wears a tattered smelly old _Grandmaster Flash_ t-shirt underneath his clothes whenever he has anything big planned! I mean it’s disgustingly old and smells like my mom’s pot-roast from five thanksgiving’s ago and he won’t let me wash it! It’s _that_ old and _that_ smelly!”

“What connection?” Ginny shakes her head.

“Y’know the one – it’s the _thing_. Like Blip and I have. The thing where they see you, and you see them. And no matter what life throws at you, that’s all that matters.”

Ginny looks at her dumbly.

“If there’s one lesson, Blip and I have learned over the years – it’s that not everyone on this earth is fortunate to find that person with whom they share the _thing.”_ Evelyn says. “And for those who do – it’s not like they don’t have to face problems or confusions, or trials ’n’ tribulations like everybody else. Lord knows, life doesn’t pull its punches. I’m not saying that the _thing_ is like a golden ticket to a problem free relationship. I’m not even saying that the _thing_ applies here with you and Mike – ”

Evie gives her a mysterious and fond smile and kisses her cheek. “But I’m just sayin’, Gin.”

 

* * *

 

 

Of all the things to expect when she waded down the escalator to the arrival lounge, Al Luongo waiting near the baggage carousel wasn’t one of them. In fact, she would have missed him, if she didn’t see the big placard with her last name in capitals.

“So.” Luongo drawls. “You’re her? Aren’t you that detective who helped us with Stubbs? Figures. You’re pretty. You look really young, though.”

Ginny’s still gawping.

“Look, Mike’s still at the post-game press. We got slammed today – so it’ll take a while. He wanted to make sure you were taken care of.” He says, reaching for her overnight bag.  

She pulls the bag back and he must see the suspicion on her face because he talks. “From what I gather, you want to keep things quiet.” He mollifies, then he gets a disdainful expression that leaves no room for doubt. “And, don’t worry about Miss Slater, either. She hates me more than I hate her – so we’re not going to compare notes.”

Ginny pulls the bag back again when he bends for it. Luongo sighs and makes a face. “Look, kid, there’s no one else Mike trusts outside of himself, but me.” He reaches for the bag and she pulls it back once more. “Call me old fashioned and sexist,” He sounds frustrated. “But I’d never let a lady carry her bags.”

“Call _me_ old fashioned and ageist, Mr. Luongo, but you’re a lot older than me and you have a bad leg.” She points it out. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bag.”

“I’m beginning to see why he’s so taken with you!” He gives her an impressed smile and shakes his head giving her a fond look. “Al’s fine. Thank you, for the concern, Detective…”

“Officer.” She corrects him. “I’m – not really a detective.”

He shrugs like it makes no difference. He doesn’t pester her about the bag. “C’mon.”

“I hear you’re flying back before the game tomorrow. Don’t you wanna see the game?” He asks, once they’re in his car, driving out of the airport.

“I uh – don’t have the time.”

“If you had time.” Luongo says. “I’d take you around, show you my city, feed you the best gnocchi you’ll ever have.”

Ginny feels shy once it hits her that this man is someone Mike shares a deep personal relationship with. “So – what exactly _has_ Mike told you about me?”

“Just that you’re special.”

“I’ll bet he says that about all the girls.” Ginny rolls her eyes.

Luongo lets out a nasal laugh. “No.” He glances her way. “He doesn’t.”

Ginny doesn’t say anything.

“I’m the team manager, Miss Baker. Not a clubbie. He _requested_ me to fetch you. He wouldn’t do that for just _any_ girl.”

“Yeah, well, he just broke up with his wife.” Ginny says, looking out at the city. “So…maybe he’s not being objective.”

“You kids, these days, always trying to analyse and rationalize what the other says or doesn’t say, what they do or don’t do. It’s like those commentators, they talk the talk but can’t walk the walk.” Luongo sniggers. “Some things in life are not _supposed_ makes sense – that’s why they don’t.”

Ginny looks at him. He doesn’t glance at her but he has a sweet, knowing smile.

“He doesn’t really have to say anything, y’know.” Al says, after a pregnant silence – his eyes still on the road. “The way he’s been smilin’ this past month. I gotta tell you it creeps the rookies out. They’re not used their Captain being anything other than a moody, curmudgeonly sonnovabitch.”

Ginny purses her lips to hide her smile.

 

 

Ginny wonders whose thoughtfulness she should be impressed at. Mike’s for delegating her to Al or Al’s itself.

Ginny had spent the whole flight nervously wracking her already-stressed out brain into how to deal with a host of multiple ‘what if’ scenarios. What if the hotel staff refused to let her go upstairs, what if the paparazzi caught pictures of Mike and her, what if some jealous groupie spotted Ginny entering his room and decided to click a picture, what if she bumped into Amelia at any point during all these ‘what ifs’?

And now, it seems a whole ninety-minutes worth of anxiety was futile. She feels like dignitary under Al’s care. From picking her up to driving her to the hotel to escorting her all the way to Mike’s room, ensuring her privacy the whole time with the meticulousness of a professional bodyguard.

“The bus’ll be here in five minutes.” Luongo tells her after he lets her in to Mike’s suite and slips the key card into the power-slot by the door. “Go ahead order some food if you’d like.” He points to a mahogany desk with all the leather folders. “Sometimes groupies break in to player’s room pretending to be hotel staff, so if you don’t mind, I’ll wait with you till he comes.”

She drops to the couch, feeling strange and awkward, looking nervously around the room, admiring its clean, sophisticated, plush interiors.

“You know my daughter wanted to be a cop, one time.” He tells her, as he sets a pot of coffee for her. “Got it in her head while she was in her last year of pre-med. She was so damned serious about it, I remember my wife couldn’t sleep for days.”

“How about you?”

“Couldn’t sleep for weeks.” He chuckles. "Tried everything from bribin’ to threatenin’.”

Ginny giggles. “So, did she apply?”

“No.” Luongo sighs. “Anna – my wife, got breast cancer. Somehow it goaded Natalie to stick to medicine.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Luongo gets a sad longing look. “Lord knows, my wife was like that flower - the edelweiss – bloomed in the harshest weather. She fought it like a trooper.”

“Was?” Ginny echoes.

He smiles sadly. “It eventually won out, took her from me.” He shrugs. “Forty-two years – four kids, twelve grandkids. I’d say we did pretty well. I’d say it gives me an idea or two about what’s real and what isn’t.”

Ginny accepts the coffee from him, expressing her gratitude for both coffee and his chatter with a smile. The bell rings and her heart skips a beat.

“Y’know, there’s so many ways a man smiles around a woman who _isn’t_ special.” Luongo says, when he waddles towards the door. He peeks through the door bell and picks up his jacket. “And there’s only _one_ way he does for the woman who is.”

He opens the door to Mike. It's clear that he’s had a bad game, he looks haggard, in spite of the neatly pressed flattering Prussian-blue button he’s wearing.  He nods at Al with a weak smile and then, when he zeroes in on her, the smile widens till it’s stretching across his face. 

Al looks at her meaningfully and shrugs.

“Thanks for getting her, Skip.” Mike says, glancing at Al but constantly diverting his eyes to her.

“Wipe that idiotic grin of your face, you big puppy!” The older man smacks the back of Mike’s head with his cap. "We lost today or have you forgotten?" 

When Mike doesn’t wipe the said idiotic grin off, Al shakes his head at his player, shoves his cap over his thinning silvery hair and tips the bill at her. “See you around, Miss Baker.” He mutters.

“I owe you one.” Mike adds, just as Al crosses the threshold.

“Yeah? How about you win tomorrow and then we’ll call it even?” Al barks before he slams the door shut.

Al’s taunt doesn’t seem to faze the intensity of Mike’s grin. 

Ginny groans. “Dammit!” She curses.

“What?” His face changes.

She gulps down the coffee and starts kicking off her shoes. “I had this big plan.” She huffs. “Where I was gonna tell you - that this _wasn’t_ a booty call…” She shrugs off her jacket.

“Not even a little one?” He pouts, walking inside.

Ginny starts stripping down piece by piece, listing it all out. “I just wanted to get away from San Diego –“

Mike’s backpack drops with a thud to the floor when as Ginny pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it away and then unbuckles her jeans.

“Get some breathing space –“ She shoves the denim down to her ankles and steps out of it.

He walks forwards entranced.

“Maybe have some good food, and just talk, y’know?” She nods, emphatically. She rises to her full height wearing nothing but lingerie, ripping out the rubberband, fluffing out her hair and bracing her hips.

Yeah, so maybe she also had a little backup plan to elicit _that_ look on his face, too.

“We -” He chokes on his words.

He looks fearful – his hand twitching like he wants to touch her but he’s afraid that she’ll vanish if he does. He clears his throat, eyes loitering on the baby pink thong, sweeping up only to get stuck at her breasts. She can’t blame him; the matching plunging bra does make her boobs look awesome.

He finally drags his gaze up to her face, shifting his hips – like his jeans feel uncomfortable. If she wasn’t trying to maintain a stern front, Ginny would have laughed at that impossibly cute miserable look he has.

“We –" He squeaks, his baritone voice, scratchy and pitchy. “We can still talk.”

His beard moves when he gulps hard, and Ginny almost loses it. A smile _almost_ makes it to her face.

“But no!” She grumbles, exaggerates a huff and then pushes him towards the bed. He stumbles back passively like a mute lamb with that stumped, helpless expression still plastered all over his face.

“You just _have_ to be this _amazing_ guy, don’t you?” She pokes his chest as she walks him backwards. “You just _have_ to go on and be this caring, sweet, _genuine_ person!” She snarls. “ _Ugh!_ I hate it! Why couldn’t you just have been a jerk! You know – the fuck ‘em and leave ‘em type? Hmm?” 

“What?” He frowns. He’s so cute when he looks confused like that.

“Now I’m gonna _have_ to fuck you because – well, just because.” She mutters and shoves him to the bed. He falls back and rebounds with the mattress. Ginny mounts him, sighing exasperatedly.

“Baker?” He stops her with a heavy hand on her shoulder and a wary look in his eyes. “Are you on something?”

Ginny’s mouth curls as she shimmies down, sitting directly over the hard bulge. She docks her crotch right over it, gyrates her hips, ups the sexy when she speaks. “But I guess we can just skip all the frivolities and go directly to third base.”

Mike groans and winces, his hands fly to her waist, fingernails scraping gently – because he knows she likes that.

“Seeing as how...” Ginny gasps as the denim chafes roughly at the sensitive skin in her inner thighs. “…you’re terrible at playing first.” She lisps the last syllable because she knows that husky sound is _the_ one, that has Mike on all systems go.

A slow smile spreads on his face as she hastily undoes his shirt buttons. He grabs her bare ass-cheek, just as she’s about to fish his boner out of his jeans and sits up, trapping her hands between them.

He slots his fingers into her curls and traps her hair in a fist. It’s a forceful but painless tug – hot as fuck. He ghosts his beard over her lips, a feather-light brush that tickles her lips, hardens her nipples, tightens her lower tummy, and makes her gasp louder. She opens her mouth to dart her tongue out but he inches back, lifting an eyebrow.

“That is true…” He uses _the_ voice that has her wetting the thong embarrassingly quick. “…totally bombed at first base today.”

He claws at her ass and squeezes tight, possessively, and painfully. Ginny lets out a husky whine that has his pupils blooming. He runs his fingers along the G-string, swiping them between her ass, along the fabric, resting it directly on top of that painfully erect clit.  She lets out a nasal gasp, grabs his jaw with both hands, curling her fingers through his beard forcing his mouth closer. He jerks his head back, tightening his hold on her hair and forcing her head back, rubbing the stiffened numb with his finger.

He pants short, hot, billowing puffs of air over her face when she slams her pelvis down on his hand, trapping between it between his hard-on and herself, swiveling her hips faster. She tries to kiss him again, but he jerks his wrist, yanks her hair, her face withdraws infinitesimally.

He ducks his head and licks a long stripe from the valley between her breasts, all the way up to the hollow of her neck. Ginny shudders and tries to force his chin up frantically.

But he’s not done being an asshole. He keeps her mouth hovering over his, with just the tiniest distance between them – just enough for his beard to prickle, but he won’t let her close the distance.

“Thought we were bypassing first base?” He asks, innocently. “Seeing as how I’m so terrible at it and all”

Ginny growls. “Fucking kiss me already, Mike Lawson!” She barks. “That’s an order!”

He grins at her, angles his head. “Yes, Officer.” He murmurs and unclenches his fist letting Ginny’s hair waterfall around his face, she claps his ears and slams her mouth over his with a desperate moan, finds his tongue waiting for her.

 

 

 

“You sure Amelia’s not going to pop by?” Ginny asks, climbing back into bed after she’s done raiding the mini-bar.

Mike just staring at her with a stupidly possessive expression, eyeing the shirt she’s wearing – his. He frowns at the speed at which she attacks the Pringles box.

“We can order room service you know.” He points to the phone on the nightstand.

She tosses the box away and licks the salty crumbs of her fingers. “Eh!” She shrugs. “Maybe later.”

“Amelia and I had a falling out.” He says.

“Oh?” She pulls out some tissues to clean up her hands. They’ve almost exhausted the entire box.

“Related to Margie. She showed me a pretty impressive juvie record. Good job on that, by the way, scared the crap out of me for about ten seconds! I actually thought I was dating a violent offender.”

Ginny grins.

“She was worried.” He says.

“ _About_ Margie?” Ginny raises her eyebrows.

Mike snorts sarcastically. “Apparently, ‘Margie’ didn’t encash the cheque. And ‘Margie’ disappeared from escort service and _The Club_ , after she ‘had a word’ with you.” He looks at her meaningfully, lifting his eyebrows, those cute forehead furrows appear. “She was worried that ‘Margie’ has found an alternative source of funds.”

Ginny frowns.  

Mike nods with slow smile.

“By which she means you?” Ginny says, imitating Amelia’s crisp voice. “Margie’s potential ‘sugar daddy’?”

Mike sniggers. “Say the word, babe, and I’ll totally be your daddy…”

“Stop right there.” She puts her palm up.

“Yeah okay.” Mike chuckles. He sighs. “I told her we weren’t seeing each other.” He sits up, the humour gone from his face. “Look – I didn’t say anything. I’ve told her to back off but I’m thinking you should tell her. I’m just worried. Amelia’s firm…”

“…also handles Violet’s PR.” Ginny completes. “But I can’t tell her, Mike. If she lets it slip to Violet – it’s all going to crash and burn.”

“Yeah, but I’m really worried she might let something slip _anyway_. About us. To Vincent – and maybe…”

_And maybe Violet._

Ginny chews on the corner of her mouth.

“I’m gonna be honest, though.” Ginny smirks. “Sometimes, I wonder what the look on your agent’s face is gonna be like when she finds out I’m a cop.”

“You’re a freak.” He teases, he leans against the headrest just as she skates into his embrace. “You take pleasure in people’s pain.”

“Hey – she was the snooty li’l twat who saw an SDPD jacket and presumed I was a stripper!”

“Look I’m not defending her here. I know Amelia’s stubborn. It’s her way or the high way, that’s how it works. I know she can be a handful, Ginny – but…she really knows how to handle the publicity and the endorsements. I didn’t want to slander Rachel, so I kept quiet about the reasons for the divorce. But – ever since we went public with the split, there’s a lot of passive aggression I get from sports journos nowadays. Especially Rachel’s friends.”

“You want me to have a little talk with them?” Ginny asks, feeling sympathetic for him.

“Well – I have no doubt you will scare the shit out of them, for real – so I am gonna go with ‘No’.” He smiles. “Jokes aside, what I’m trying to say is… I don’t know what how I’d handle it all if Amelia wasn’t my agent.”

Ginny snorts a long puff of air resignedly and nods. When Ginny looks up at him he’s got a playful smirk on his face. “I’m pretty sure that whole thing you did back there…” he murmurs, “qualifies as a strip show, so maybe Amelia _does_ have a point there -”

He yelps when she grabs him by a flat nipple and twists it. “Hey! It’s not like I’m complaining -!”

She does it again.

“Ow! That fucking hurts!” He yowls. “Are you sure that juvie record was faked? You’re pretty fuckin’ violent.”

“That was all me and don’t you forget that!” She sticks a finger in his face, struggling not to laugh. He nips at it. Ginny swats his nose. They end up in a wrestling match with pillows being thrown around – a whole lot of giggling until she’s got him pinned under her. Then he goes for the kill – starts ticking her with his beard until she’s shrieking in hysterics.

“I’ll be on away games for the next ten days.” He kisses her forehead, catching his breath when they’re done frolicking. “In case, you decide – to become Margie – again?” His face slowly turns serious. “When will I see you next?”

They readjust till she can snuggle into his embrace. She pats his chest hair and purrs. “Let’s hope it’s sooner than later.” She looks up at him, reassuringly. “Duarte’s coming with me.”

He gets that possessive look again. “If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t.”

She giggles. “Why? I thought you’d be all down with the big strong policeman escorting your little lady.”

“You’re the big strong policewoman, Baker.  I have the sore nipple to prove it.” He snares Ginny’s hand when she moves to grab the other nipple. “And, you are more than perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.”

Ginny looks up at him and sees a very earnest look in his eyes.

“Scoring brownie points for round two, aren’t you?” She makes a face.

“Oh, I still have score brownie points?” He looks innocent. “I thought we were official. I figured the sex was just a phone call away.”

“Shut up.” She giggles.

“Did you think over it? Moving in with me?”

“I need some time, Mike.” She says, plainly. “Too many things on my mind.”

“Good. Stop thinking about it.”

He sounds too abrupt to be joking. “Why?” Ginny sits up.

“I might have to start looking at a new team, Baker.” He looks as sad as he sounds. “This may not happen for us.”

“Why – ? Is it the new catcher?”

“No, it’s more than that.” He sighs. “It’s Violet.”

“Violet?”

“What I’m telling you – you didn’t hear it from me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’ve been hearing rumours for a while. And Amelia just confirmed it for me.  She’s buying out the company that part owns the _Padres_ franchise.”

She tucks her feet under her thighs. “How does that matter to you?”

He sighs, and rubs his hand over the bare, exposed skin above her knees. “We’re already dealing with a lot of bad press after Stubbs’ arrest. I’m not a fool Ginny, I know Violet has something to do with all of that ‘LP’ business. If – rather, _when_ – you arrest her. It won’t just be about the media aggravation. I’m a hundred percent sure that her finances will come under scrutiny. That means, accounts get frozen, money in-flow gets stuck. Eventually it will backfire on the ball club.”

Ginny listens to him with wide eyes.

“They’ll have to trade away a lot of players just to keep the team afloat.” He sighs. “And – right now I’m their most expensive asset. I’ll be forced to waive off my no-trade clause – and if I’m attached to a scandalous ball club – no one might want me.”

“Oh Mike.”

“I won’t tell anyone anything, I promise. Relax.” He tugs her so she’s back in his arms again. “What you are doing is far more important. I wouldn’t do anything to fuck with that.”

Ginny frowns. “Any idea when it’s supposed to happen?”

“I hear negotiations start next week. They’ll announce once we’re back. I know Al is already sweating it. They nearly threw him out when the last front office change happened.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I’d sooner retire than leave the Padres.” He says. “But, if I _have_ to move to any of the teams, I’d rather do it on my terms. And I’d like for it to be a solid contender.”

She agrees with him. “You wanna win a Word Series.”

“Yeah…” He sounds resigned.

She crawls further into his lap and they cuddle silently for a while.

“You wanna go out?” He asks. “There’s this spot in the Marin Headlands – it’s got great view of the Golden Gate Bridge. No one goes there at night. We could hang there.”

Ginny smiles at him, just looking at his face for a long time until her smile fades. “I’m so tired, Mike.” She says, looking up into his eyes.

She’s not talking about going out and he shows his understanding with a nod.  “What can you tell me?” He asks, stroking her cheek with his knuckles.

She doesn’t tell him that the ball is in her court, that it is now up to her whether she goes under as Margie or not. She doesn’t want to, for fear he’ll bias her just by his concern.

She’s about to protest and use the confidentiality argument but then it occurs to her that she came all the way here to be with him. To talk to him, to laugh with him, have him surround her, have him inside her. Being with him _helped_ – and it’s like Noelle said, there was no shame in seeking help.

“I don’t want to be Margie.” She says, quietly.

He nods.

“I don’t wanna be Vera, or Dominique, or Chantelle. But, I don’t know if I wanna be Ginny, either. I don’t know what I want.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of women – very hot and fuckable sounding women.” He teases, lightly.

She smacks his shoulder, playfully. He catches her hand and then presses her knuckles this lips. He does that thing where he rubs his fingers along her pitching calluses. A small, brief wave of comfort washes over her.

“Y’know – I knew the majors was a long shot.” She says. “I never had any misconceptions that it would happen easy. My Dad, he never let me take it lightly, either. Pop used to hammer this thing into my head: endure, endure, endure. Whatever happens, whatever life throws at you – endure.”

Mike listens to her silently, tracing soothing circles on her chin.

“It was a long shot, but,” she sighs, “if the tide ever changed – I knew I had it…” She says. “The skills, the drive, the endurance – I’d ready and prepared to ride that wave.”

“What happened?”

She fingers the fine scar on her eyebrow. “There was an accident.” Mike’s eyes broaden with empathy.

“Pop died.” She says, dropping her chin. “Things changed – they – just –I don’t know how to explain it. They just changed. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.”

“How old were you?” His voice is flat, expressionless.

“Seventeen.”

“The robot malfunctioned?” He echoes her words to her. “She ran away.”

Ginny feels like this tense hot burden is starting to unwind. “So, what does that make her?” She asks him. “Doesn’t it make her a coward?”

Mike doesn’t answer. He only regards her intensely.

She lets out a long sigh. “Y’know, Blip always says that most covert operatives undergo this – schism of sorts. A fracture of the self, he calls it. There’s the person we play, constantly in war with the person we are supposed to be…” She shakes her head. “…and somehow the person who _is_ , gets lost in the process.” She looks at Mike, feeling hot tears sting at her eyes.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even part his mouth. He regards her with a grim face. A deep, soul-stabbing gaze, eyebrows pulled together, lips pressed in a thin line half-hidden under the overgrowth of his moustache.

“What if – I don’t know who _is_?” She asks in a small voice. “Even when I’m not Margie, I’m constantly struggling with who’s under all that. I mean, how can Margie struggle with who Ginny is supposed to be – when Ginny herself doesn’t know who – or _what_ she is?”

Ginny pauses to breathe. “I know it seems like I hated being Margie. And god knows, I did. It wasn’t a small thing. Your cover ID as a perp is bad enough. You gotta pretend to do things you’re ethically against. Follow orders of the very same fish you’re trying to catch. All that, without getting tainted in the process. Playing a whore – ? It’s worse.” She snorts.

“You get treated like dirt.” She bobs her head as she speaks, feeling the tears hovering over the brim of her eyelids.  “You’re treated like a failure. Scum of society, sinner, slut, home-wrecker, husband-stealer. The fact that most of these girls – who do this for real - end up in these traps as a consequence of desperation is completely overlooked. There’s a loss of dignity, a lot of spite, a lot of confusion. It’s rough.”  

She glances at him, he still doesn’t say anything, and neither does his expression change.

“Working as a UC –” She says, levelling out her voice. “ _That_ serves a purpose.  I can’t really hate ‘Margie’ because – she went through all that shit – to serve a purpose. A higher purpose. The greater good – maybe the greatest good. And she – and every other cover identity I’ve played before her - gave me…” Ginny jabs her fingers at her breastbone. “ _Ginny_ – the malfunctioned bot in cleats, a purpose to function.”

She squeezes her eyes and sucks air into her lungs. Her tears retreat in all directions behind her eyes, she sniffles away the ones that make it to her nose.  

“I failed Pop.” She lets the words out with a heavy whiff, finally voicing it: the cruel and punishing truth that’s weighed so heavily on her soul. That unbearable burden, haunting her all these years. Of all the places, in a strange city, in a strange bed of a strange hotel room wearing nothing but her lover’s shirt – a man, who for all intent and purposes is _still_ a stranger. A man who came into her life by a pure anomaly of fate.

She opens her eyes and looks at him. The whites of his eyes are red, and there’s a distinct sheen of restrained emotion.

“I failed the dream.” She whispers, looking down at her hands - when had she pulled them out of his warm palms and folded them like that over her knees?

“But, what am I…” She chokes. “if I didn’t see _this_ through either? Almost a year as ‘Margie’ – I’ll have failed her. I didn’t make it to the big leagues, what if I fail the greater friggin’ good as well?”

Ginny’s lower lip quivers when she lets out a recessional sob. She can’t bring herself to look up at Mike.

A loud dry swallow and a coughing noise precedes his thick voice when he finally does speak. “What – what is the worst thing about not going back as Margie? For you.”

She sighs, thinking of Bellamy, Duarte and Blip. “There’s a chance this mission fails. I’ll have failed my team – the people I truly care about. We worked on this together for almost a year now.”

When she glances up at him, he’s not looking at her anymore. His gaze is directed at point on the bed and it seems like he’s mulling things over. He frowns and relaxes his face intermittently, furrows flash and disappear on his forehead with his expressions.

She’s about to shirk everything off and crack a joke. But, before she can, Mike swiftly throws off the sheets and swings his legs out of the bed. He rises with a soft groan, twists his back, side to side, grunting angrily as his spine makings popping sounds.

Ginny’s mouth twitches as she studies him.  Completely comfortable in his skin, his glorious, brawny, stocky body on display, unfazed at prancing around with a shred of clothing.

“C’mere.” He beckons to her.

“Why?” She asks, but shifts nonetheless.

“Because I say so.”

“But, I don’t wanna leave the bed…”

“Are you seriously questioning me?” He mocks infuriation.

He hooks his arm around her elbow when she reluctantly gets out of the bed and leads her to the full-length mirror on the closet door

“What do you see?” He asks.

She glances at the mirror, half-expecting him to give her a Noelle-like speech of ‘figure out who you are’.

For one she sees the way her eyes roll, for the other she sees his gorgeously hung manhood and for the third, the way her mouth twitches upwards at the sight of said manhood. She shrugs. “You and me.”

“Yeah, we look good together, don’t we?” He pulls her close, stops her from groping him, holds her arm and makes her look at the mirror again. When she squirms trying to grab his dick again, he smacks her bum. She recoils and then goes still.

“What else?” He asks, his smug smile fading.

“Sex hair, and sex face.” She shrugs, pouting over the way her hair stands up like a beehive. She winds her arms back to flatten down his untidy short locks. 

“Damn right!” He gloats, with a big fat grin, but then he nudges her arms down so she’s focussed on the mirror again. “That was _all_ me and don’t _you_ forget that!” He grins. “Y’know what I think?” he gloats, “I think I make you look good.”

Ginny rolls her eyes.

“You - with all the attitude!” He huffs in reply.

He cuddles her from behind, his muscular forearms winding around her middle, resting his chin on her shoulder. Ginny smiles at the reflection when he presses his mouth to her ear. She giggles and squirms when the hair tickles inside her ear.

He turns his face to mirror after pressing a noisy wet kiss on her temple, tightening the embrace. Ginny sees that same warm, fond expression in his eyes that just makes her feel like everything’s right.

“You know what I see?” He asks, once they’ve sobered up. His voice is lower, emphatic.

“Mm?” She starts to sway, feeling all moony and happy. He forces her to stay still. Ginny finally concedes, resting her hands on his forearms, resting her cheek against his beard.

“I see this girl – this _woman_.” Mike says, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “A total gamer. No matter what you throw at her, she gets right back up.”

“You’re trying to get me all weak in the knees and horny again, aren’t you?” She glances away, seeing a high shade of pink tinting the tops of her cheeks.

“Maybe a little…” He shrugs, that naughty smile threatening to break the solemnity on his face.

“Point is – that _woman_ there.” He nudges her chin till she’s looking at herself. “That there – is no coward. She’s not Ginny, the malfunctioned robot. Not Ginny, the ballplayer. Not Ginny, the cop, either. She’s not even Margie, or – Vera, Dominique, or…Chantelle.” He points once, before returning his arm to the hug. “That there is Ginny Baker.” He states. “Pure and simple.”

Ginny’s smirk subsides. She shifts her gaze from their overall reflection to his face. Even through the mirror, she’s overwhelmed by the ardour in his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter-” He says, in a gentler tone. “If she’s wearing a police uniform, or a baseball uniform, or Margie’s clothes – or even my fine-as-fuck shirt which…” He lifts an eyebrow and smirks briefly. “...I gotta say, makes you look even better. Hey! Stop with the eye-rolling! It is _my_ shirt, after all.”

He uncoils his arms and turns her around to face him. “It seems to me like you’ve got a lot of reasons that you’re doing this for – and I wonder if it’s not about time that you start doing this for yourself. Just you! No offense to dead Pop!” His expression fleetingly turns apologetic. “– sorry, the memory of your late father or whatever but –” he huffs.

“Screw the dream! Screw dead Pop! Screw Margie! Screw all the expectations! Screw the greater good.”

His eyebrows are lifted, all furrows on full mast. His eyelids are pulled wide, pupils like tiny black dots against the greyish-green orbs with a murky rim – the colour it takes, when he means serious business.

That unguarded fierceness she saw in the mirror shines brighter, it wrenches her heart with a greater force. Ginny feels like she’s a rookie, facing her team captain, facing her commanding officer, her guide, her friend.

“You do this for yourself.” He commands. “You do this for your team…” He nods. “…or you don’t do it at all.” He shakes his head, lightly. “‘Cause, you can’t aim your pitches, if you’re aiming to please.”

Ginny listens to him, obedient and speechless. He cups her face and stares at her intently for a few more moments – as though he’s giving her the time to let his words sink in.

He sighs pretentiously, soon enough. “You know, I just came up with that on the spot.” He mimics himself. “I mean ‘Aim your pitches, aim to please’? Damn I’m good. I should really be in the moves.”

Ginny giggles and hides her face in his shoulder, wrapping herself around him. Mike hugs her tight for a second and then he twirls her around till she’s facing their reflection in the mirror again.

She fidgets and occasionally tries to wriggle out of his embrace but he spoons her tightly, kisses the side of her face several times, rests his bearded jaw in the crook of her shoulder. He starts to rock her gently, and she sways with him. She avoids looking at herself for a long time, feeling uncomfortable at first. But he waits patiently, until she’s ready to stare unflinchingly at their reflection.

She leans back into his chest and regards herself, tries to perceive herself through his eyes.

And she stills.

Her reflection changes, perceptibly – it’s amazing because there’s no physical difference – and yet they both see it. Ginny knows he’s smiling. Though it’s hidden by the whiskers around his mouth, there’s a half-satisfied, half-mischievous twinkle in his eyes that she knows belongs to a small, but meaningful smile.

“Hey?” He mumbles in her ear. “Mic drop!”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“You look refreshed.” Agent Wasserman comments first thing, when they meet on Monday morning. “Good weekend?”

Ginny doesn’t react to his comment. She drops into the chair opposite him with a flagrant composure that Wasserman notices – makes it clear he notices, by raising his eyebrows.  

“I’ll do it.” She states.

The entire room goes mute. The bustle and background droning of officers and agents that are part of the joint task force dissipates into pin-drop silence.

Before Wasserman can open his mouth, Ginny cuts him off. “But, I’m not doing to do this as Margie.” She declares confidently.

He looks disappointed.

“Even if Violet Gleason is not _La Vibora_ , we are certain Sequeira connects her to the Viper’s cartel. And that woman…” Ginny stabs her forefinger in the direction of the whiteboard with Violet’s professionally photographed perfectly artistic headshot stuck to it. “… is no fool. Going under as Margie is not only risky, it would be stupid.”

She gives a wry smile. “I’m okay with getting shot, but getting shot in the face _and_ getting my ears chopped off….” She whistles. “That is how _La Vibora_ executes traitors, isn’t it?” She shakes head. “Uh uh. I have very a pretty face and prettier ears…” She smiles at the memory of Mike tickling her ears. “My _boyfriend_ likes my ears _a lot_. He’d _kill_ me if I came home minus my pretty ears.”

She pretends she doesn’t see Blip and Duarte’s co-ordinated eye-roll or the strange looks thrown her way by the Captain, the chiefs, or the agents.

Ginny pushes all the jokes away. “What I will do…” She says, her voice sounding uncharacteristically bold and sure, even to herself. “- is get you intel on the place she holds these trafficked victims. And – I _hope_ , that’s all it will take for you to act.” She says. “If it doesn’t –” She glances at her superiors. There’s an encouraging look on all their faces – even the chiefs. “- then, I guess the SDPD will move on her by ourselves.”

Wasserman glances at Bellamy. The Captain nods, the chiefs add their nods in support.

“Whatever falls under federal jurisdiction, will be handed over to you, of course.” The Assistant Chief adds.  

“We’ll need some more manpower in this operation from the SDPD’s end.” Blip says, placing a list of officers that Ginny, Duarte and Blip had brainstormed over the previous night – Noelle being at the top of it. “Men and women, we can vouch for. They’re clean and reliable.” Blip adds, looking at Wasserman pointedly. “Our hope is that there are no moles at your end of the operation.”

Ginny pushes it towards the Assistant Chief. He just nods at Bellamy without even glancing at the list as if to say ‘whatever you need’.

“If you won’t go as Margie, then how will you do it?” Wasserman asks, as he gets a copy of the list.

“I’ll do it as me.” She answers calmly.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere, somehow, it was as though a protracted, indolent but vital process had been completed. Set in motion from the day two broken people crossed paths.

It felt too soon to be named or defined, but it was tangible, nonetheless. The connection, the ‘thing’, that Evelyn talked about, the ‘real’ that Al implied. Things – words both spoken and unspoken, actions, caresses, kisses, lovemaking - all of it.

He was for her a permeating, sealing flame - soldering the splintered ends of her many broken parts. And yet he was also soothing as the cool water, poured over the scorching ends of the cleaved fragments solidifying it all into one - something stronger, unstoppable, and unbreakable.

She looked in a mirror with him. And, even though he was there, standing behind her in the reflection, holding her in his loving embrace, watching her with that unspoken sentiment that made it all so wonderful – somehow his indomitable, larger-than-life presence vanished.

She looked in the mirror.

And, Ginny Baker looked back at her.

  


	9. Post-Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love you guys.  
> some plot in this one - figments of my over the top imagination.  
> phone sex

Mike redeems himself at first base in the last game against the Giants. Him and the new catcher get the last outs on a 3-2-3 double play.  Ginny watches it with Livan in the rec room, eating takeout for dinner, while waiting on Blip to finish his hush-hush meeting with the Criminal Intelligence Unit.

The commentator announces the Padres win and commends Mike Lawson’s fielding.

“Looks like the _Padres_ found their new first baseman.” Duarte remarks, when he observes her fist-punch.

She doesn’t appreciate his sarcasm.

“What? I can’t make fun of Lawson anymore?” He counters when he sees the change on her face. “C’mon Mami, where’s your sense of loyalty? Ah? You’ve known me longer!”

“And yet for some reason, you still can’t remember that I hate cilantro!” She shoves the untouched box of cilantro rice at him as the post-game discussion begins.

He brushes it off. “If it don’t kill you, it’s good for you.”

“ _Tsk!_ ”

“Iron and vitamins, Mami!”

She’s about to give him a whole speech on aldehydes when Blip bangs the door open. “Narcs just raided a crackhouse in Lincoln Park.” He huffs. “All suspected dealers for _La Vibora_ – all dead! No ‘LP’ found on site. C’mon, let’s move!” Blip hurries.

Ginny looks at Duarte. He softly hisses through his teeth, like he’s speculating.

“What?” She asks.

“She’s cleaning house.” Duarte remarks.

 

 

“Here’s what I don’t get.” Ginny says in the car, siren ringing in the background. “Violet is like -  this quiet, obscure little princess, right? Typical upper class child of privilege, right down to her own pony. Her Dad owns a mini hotel empire on the East Coast. She’s a bright kid, top SAT scores, makes it to Harvard Business.” She looks at Duarte. “Where would she get the time between her Equestrian championships, debutante balls and college applications to go become a street fighter in Columbia?”

Duarte curses impatiently; something in Spanish that sounds a lot like he’s criticizing Blip’s driving. He cuts across Blip’s car to gain the lead.

“And, how does a person operate as _La Vibora_ for twenty-five years without getting caught?” Ginny asks.

Ginny grabs onto handle snapping her eyes shut when Duarte veers sharply around the corner. For a second, she feels like she’s back in Pop’s truck again with the world spinning around just before it goes black.

She shakes the memories off when Duarte starts talking, oblivious to her discomfort. “It’s probably not one person.” Duarte says. “If the boss dies or he’s killed or he retires, the cartel survives him – a legacy survives. So maybe a blood relative takes over, or a trusted member of the cartel - usually whoever is next in the chain of command – or maybe there’s a coup.”

“So…” She starts to speak, but Duarte steps on the gas like he’s hellbent on attaining critical velocity to send his car up into space.  

Ginny closes her eyes again and continues. “She meets the late Vincent Gleason Sr. in college, they get married straight after she graduates -  move here because Vincent has a start-up in the works, have a baby the same year. She pretty much settles into a stay-at-home Mom role – until her husband dies of a sudden heart attack…”

She peeks once, and shuts her eyes again when it looks at like Duarte is in no mood to slow down.

“Vincent Jr.’s around eight at the time.” She says. “She takes over Vinnie Sr’s company, expands it. Uses capital from her trust fund. She takes over her father’s hotel chain when he steps down after a stroke, rebrands it -  dilutes all assets on the East Coast and starts buying up hotels in California. Makes San Diego her permanent base.” She huffs. “Every dime by which she became this business queen is accounted for. There’s no record of travel to and from Columbia. No hotels they own there, no real estate. No financial holdings. No business partners. So - if she did take over for _La Vibora’s_ cartel – where in the fuck in that memoir-worthy story did she do it?”

Duarte frowns suddenly. “Her husband was only thirty-two when he died, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“How many thirty-somethings die of heart attacks? Do we have his medical history?”

“Aaaaah.” Ginny drawls, tapping out a note on her work phone. “We need to look into that.”

Duarte’s phone rings and Ginny’s personal phone beeps with a text around the same time. Mike Lawson’s name appears. He’s replying to the congratulatory emoji she’d sent him earlier.

_We sure fooled everyone with that cutter!_

She snorts and replies: _You sure fooled everyone by catching it!_

Duarte starts speaking to the person on the other side, handling the steering with one hand and thankfully slowing down the maniacal speed of the car. Ginny breathes easier.

Mike replies with an emoji of a yellow bearded smiley getting burned.

Ginny snickers.

“That was our analyst in financial crime.” Duarte says, hanging up. “That ‘tip’ you got on Violet’s bid for that tech company –? It’s solid. In fact, the only asset she’s aiming for is their principal stake in the _Padres_ franchise. Source of funds is personal wealth – money’s being routed through an off-shore account in Europe – some bank in Andorra.”

“Where’s Andorra?” She asks, smirking at her phone.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Duarte retorts. “You’ve gotta a phone on you, stop sexting your boyfriend and google it.”

“I’m not…sexting!” She protests.

As if on cue Mike texts: _So, what r u wearing?_

Ginny sniggers. _I’m at work, u sick old perv._

 _-What r u wearing underneath what u r wearing?_ Beeps a few seconds later.

_\- Rn’t u supposed to be in the showers now. Can smell u all the way in SD._

_\- Can smell u too…sometimes. All over my face, baby._

Ginny feels her blood heat up. She wets her mouth and is about to type something back but Duarte slows the car down, parking it near the crime scene.

She texts: _gtg work_ to Mike as she gets out of the car looking around for Blip and Noelle. As usual there’s a herd of onlookers and reporters fishing behind the yellow tapes.

 _\- be safe._ He replies, instantly.

He follows it up with another text, just as she ducks under the yellow tape to pass through, flashing her badge at the uniformed officer restraining the pressing crowd. Three emojis in a row: a policewoman, heart-eyes and a guy with a dark beard.

Ginny covers her mouth snickering quietly and sends him a policewoman, a heart, and a baseball.

He replies with the policewoman, a heart, the bearded smiley, heart-eyes followed by the baseball.

“What a dork!” She thinks aloud, stifling her giggle, almost ignoring someone calling out to her.

“Hey!” The person shouts louder. “Detective Ginny!”

Ginny turns around looking for the source of the voice. She looks beyond the patrol officer, smile still lingering on her face and it freezes at once.

Cara beams at her from among the faces in the crowd, she jerks her head in the direction of a pub across the street.

 

 

“I’m sorry I had to lay low for a while.” Cara says, just after the waitress leaves with their order.

Ginny pulls Cara into, what must be, the tenth bear hug, all teary-eyed with relief.  “I’m just glad you’re alive and safe. I was so worried.”

“Same goes for you.” Cara says. She glances at Duarte on the other side of the booth and narrows her eyes at him like she’s trying to place him. Duarte turns on his charming, dimpled smile. Cara doesn’t blush and preen like most women would.

“I guess you’re not really her boyfriend, ha?” She giggles with amusement. “That’s a pity. You two’d make the cutest babies together. Those dimples would be crazy!”

Ginny shakes her head.  “That’s what I keep telling her.” Duarte winks at Cara.

She looks at Blip. “Thanks for helping me out…with the thing.”

Duarte and Ginny turn to him. Blip is impassive to their quizzical glances. “You’re welcome.” He says.

“What thing?” Ginny asks.

“You two aren’t the only ones allowed to keep secrets.” Blip says in a tone that implies ‘don’t even bother asking’.

Cara gives her a guilty smile. “He made a few calls, helped me out of a sticky spot.”

“So.” Blip sighs, as soon as the waitress leaves after laying out the food. “What exactly are you doing here?”

Before Ginny can add her questions, Cara pulls both earrings out. To their amazement, she uses the hook-pin of one to eject a chip from the rectangular metallic dangler of the other.

“Ta da.” Cara exclaims.

“What’s this?” Blip asks, frowning at it. “Looks like a microSD.”

Cara makes a sheepish face. “So - remember how I told you I was in the whole escort-slash-hooker deal for the money? That’s not exactly true. I mean – I did sleep with _some_ of the guys, but only the ones I liked.”

“So then…?” Ginny asks, unable to take her eyes off the tiny little chip in Cara’s palm.

“I’m sort of pleading the fifth here. So, _I_ don’t know anything.”

All three of them nod.

“But…” Cara continues. “Let’s just assume there’s this person who gets paid to steal secrets – sort of like a spy. But not for governments. And really - it’s not that evil as pilfering info for terrorists or anything. Think of it as a Robin Hood sort of thing.”

“Like a corporate spy?” Blip counters.

“Exactly – except that sounds equally evil and sinister. I’m thinking more like –” she stretches her lips, “ _free agent,_ for hire?”

“Okay.” Blip chuckles.

“I mean the person isn’t an anarchist or anything.”

“Oh, I believe you.” Blip chuckles. “Go on.”

“So just let’s assume that there are these ‘concerned citizens’ – again, not anarchists but - people who get a whiff that all Mama V’s holier-than-thou shit isn’t for real. People who also stand to gain – monetarily if her enterprises – both skeevy and legit go down. People who pay these ‘free agents’ to sort of - figure out what shit is going on – gather information.”

“So, can the ‘free agent’ tell us what shit _is_ going on?” Blip asks.

“Let’s just assume the ‘free agent’ uses some mad computer skills. Sneaks a worm into say – a mobile application she develops for Mama V’s whorenterprise. Unearths some sensitive data like Mama V’s client database. Finds other information that Mama collects. Details – things which might be used for blackmail. Well-connected clients, one percenters, some higher ups in major agencies – some cops as well. People who would not be happy to learn about Mama V’s dossiers. So – the ‘free agent’ holds that over Mama V’s head – to get a job, as an escort.”

“Why?”

“Because, the ‘free agent’ has another agenda.”

“Which is?” Blip prods.

“Can’t say.” Cara states “– but now this ‘free agent’ has no use for the client list anymore. And she’s basically got a ‘Robin Hood Complex’…so…” Cara shrugs. “You know.”

She drops the microchip in Ginny’s hand. “This is everything you need on the clients. I didn’t give this to you. Pretend – you just ‘found’ it – lying around.”

“Cara…” Ginny’s overwhelmed. She looks up at her. “Thank you.”

“Do you know anything about what about what went down at the crackhouse?” Blip asks.

Cara nods, looking worried. “I was actually tailing Ali and Roxy.” She pulls her phone out and shows Blip pictures of the two women. Blip takes her phone and transfers the images.

“They’re the bottom girls. Older hookers.” Ginny explains when Duarte and Blip look to her. “They look after a Mama V’s affairs on the ground – and they’re also drafters. Recruit the barely legals, doll them up, initiate them into the escort business – sometimes get ‘em hooked on drugs if they have to.”

“I thought they came here looking to score.” Cara says. “That was six hours ago and they haven’t come out. When the cops stormed in, I moved away – figured they’d be arrested. But I heard they found dead people in there. Are they -?”

“There were no women among the victims.” Blip frowns, pulling out his phone. “Some dead men with ears missing. They’re still searching though.”

“I saw Monroe go in. He came out about fifteen minutes later.” Cara frowns. “Do you think…?”

“Monroe…?”

“He’s an enforcer for Violet.” Duarte says. “Works as a bouncer in _The Club_. He’s the guy who ‘takes care’ of things.”

“I don’t understand.” Cara shakes her head. “There’s no back alley to that building…I couldn’t have missed Ali and Roxy.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for them.” Blip reassures. “Cara, have you heard the words _La Vibora_ – or ‘the Viper’ being whispered around?”

“No but…” Cara frowns and seems to be recollecting something. “I have something but I don’t know how useful it is. I mean it could be nothing.” She shrugs. “Once every quarter, certain containers get conveniently ‘overlooked’ at security and customs at the Port. It’s never the same freight or shipping container. It’s never even the same type of container. But – I know the officials involved get a heads-up before they arrive. These containers are identified with this…”

Cara shows them the picture of a large refrigerated unit container on her phone. There’s a small, almost inconspicuous insignia stamped under the large block letters of shipping seals. She shows them a zoomed-up picture of the insignia: a snake with a distinct head and hooked fangs. She looks up at them. “A high-ranking official of the Port Authority is one of the clients – he’s on that list.”  She points to the chip in Ginny’s fist.

“Any talk of people – like girls, or kids - being transported in the containers?” Ginny asks. “Like stowaways or…maybe like - kidnapped?”

“Well, sometimes the bigger containers come with cages. Like for animals?” Cara says. “Y’know – I saw Ali and Mama V’s ground thugs hanging around the harbour near the cargo terminals on more than one occasion – especially - whenever the bigger containers came in. I got a look inside, once.” She shows them a picture of the cages as well. “They didn’t look like animals had been in kept in them. Not even bird droppings.”

She looks at Blip, Ginny and Duarte. “Look – I’m pretty much done with my business here. I’m off to LA - that’s where I’m from – for real.” Cara looks at Ginny and Blip. “Don’t worry about my safety, I know how to take care of myself. I’ll keep my ears to the ground. And I’ll be sure to keep in touch – if I find anything.”

“How can we thank you Cara?” Ginny hugs her again.

“Don’t.” Cara smiles. “Look, I know what I do isn’t quite as - honourable as what you guys do?” Cara looks at them. “But – getting this bitch in jail had become a personal issue for me now. She’s responsible for a lot of pain. I’ll be honest, a selfish petty vendetta is the only reason I’m helpin’ y’all.”

“Why is it personal?” Ginny asks

Cara gives her mysterious smile and makes a gesture zipping her lips.

 

* * *

 

_“Hey, Baker. I guess - I missed you. We’re flying to St. Louis. Wow, I’ve never got your voicemail before, this feels awkwa…”_

_“Yo! Mike! Why’re you hidin’ over there?  You talkin’ to your new girl?”_

_“Uh… “_

_“Yo Butch! Check this out! Old Man Lawson’s going all pink behind the ears. Come on over here!”_

_“Sonny what the fuck- ?_ _Oh heeeeey Butch! what’s up?”_

 _“Woah-hoo! Lawson! That is_ some _serious shade of pink there. Hey! Melky! Get on over here! You wanna see something freaky? That there’s a contender for ‘Ripley’s believe it or not’!”_

_“Ha -fucking-Ha. You guys mind? I’m in in the middle of a call here.”_

_“C’mon, Mike, when’re you introducing us to her?”_  

She hears some indistinct muttering and shuffling sounds.

_“Sonny, I swear to god man I will kick your lazy cutter-throwin’ ass if you don’t get your ugly mug outtamyface!”_

The voices in the background fade.

_“Hey. I’m – sorry, I gotta go. Be safe, okay? I guess I’ll talk to you when I talk to you. Um bye!”_

She’s about to hang up, thinking he’s reached the end of the voicemail but there’s some shambling and he adds in a hushed voice. _“Would I sound like a total wimp if I told you that I missed you?”_

Ginny traps her bottom lip under her teeth as a smile spreads on her face. The last time she felt all coy and fluffed out like this was when she was a schoolgirl.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Duarte’s hunch was correct. In the days to come, bodies drop like flies. Ginny’s lost count of the number of raids they’ve conducted only to stumble onto multiple gruesome homicides.

“You don’t think it’s funny that _La Vibora_ ’s on an extermination spree?” Duarte roars at Agent Wasserman. “Every drug dealer, pusher or mule reported to have an association with the Viper turns up dead.  None of the other cities where the Viper is rumoured to operate seem to be having the same problem. It’s only San Diego! All this – _after_ Pascal’s cooperation. He’s fast becoming a solitary key witness. How long do you think it’ll be before Pascal ends up _accidently_ shivved in prison, ah?”

“Would you relax? I’ve had him remanded to solitary!” Wasserman pacifies.

“Sounds to me like Violet’s on to us.” Ginny argues. “Isn’t this what _La Vibora_ did before he went underground? Cleaned up shop – left no witnesses? Are you sure your end of the operation is clean? Because it seems to me like there’s a mole.”

“I’m about as sure as you are about your people.” Wasserman snaps.

“Alright…alright!” Blip smacks his hand on the table. Ginny snarls through clenched teeth and gets reprimanded with a look.

“Dial it back, Baker!” Blip warns.

Ginny shakes her head furiously. “Gleason Hospitality is expecting a shipment next week…” She pushes details of the containers towards Wasserman. “It’s not our jurisdiction. But the FBI can override harbour police prerogatives to conduct a surprise raid.”

“Where did you…”

“The tip is solid.” She says. “We’re running out of time here, Agent. It’s a matter of time before she starts ‘taking care’ of the escorts.” She looks at Wasserman impatiently. “Do you wanna do this or not?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hello?”

“ _You sound tired_.” Mike says, first thing. _“It’s too early for you to be sleeping.”_

“I’ve seen a lot of blood today, lot of dead bodies.” She tells him. “It’s –” She shakes her head. “I never get used to it.”

_“I want to say something smart like: you will – with time, but I don’t know if it’s my place. And I also don’t know if I want you to get used to it.”_

“It’s not your place. And I should get used to it. It’s part of what I do.”

_“Good to know.”_

“Somebody’s cranky today.”

_“We lost.”_

“I know.”

_“I hate losing.”_

“I know. Me too.”

There’s a long silence. Ginny starts fidgeting.  “You wanna hang up?” She asks.

_“No.”_

“Okay then.”

They fall into another silence – that’s less awkward.

 _“Do you – want to talk about it?”_ He asks, after a while.

“No.”

_“Okay then.”_

Another short silence ensues which doesn’t feel awkward at all

_“You wanna phone-fuck?”_

“Not really.”

_“Okay then.”_

“You?”

_“Not really.”_

"Okay, then."

He sighs loud and then speaks, _“I’ve never seen a dead body. I mean – maybe, when I kill that dickwad newbie who’s been on the team for all of five minutes I will. Even then - I don’t think it’s funny to joke about it.”_

“It’s a little funny.” Ginny snorts, wryly. “What did he do this time?”

_“He deliberately ignores the third base coach’s signal, risks the last out of the game because he thinks he’s a fuckin’ hero - when we’re down by two.”_

“Not a big fan of your speeches or life lessons, I take it.”

_“He’s worse that Jedi.”_

“Jedi?”

_“My dog. He used to love chasing skunks…”_

“No Chewwie?”

He snickers. _“Look at you being all cute and interrupting me.”_

Ginny giggles. “Highlight of my day.”

“ _Yeah, well he didn’t’ look like a Chewwie, yeah so…”_

“Go on. I won’t interrupt.”

_“You literally just did.”_

She sniggers.

 _“Jedi kept getting out. He’d take off, chasing after skunks – in the ravine behind our house. I trained him, bribed him, I fenced him in – but he kept getting out, kept chasing skunks. He’d – come home happy, covered in thorns.”_ He sniggers. _“Most importantly - not skunked. He got cockier and cockier, until he finally wore me down an…”_ He sighs _. “I just let him be a dog. Until one day his luck ran out.”_

“He got skunked?” Ginny grimaces.

_“Eaten by a coyote.”_

“Yikes.”

_“Y’know Baker – I’ve been there, done that. Thought I was a fuckin’ invincible right from the day they signed me on. Learned the value of humility and teamwork the hard way. So, I try to be patient with the rookies, I do. The difference between showoff and me – was that I took instruction when it was given to me.”_

Ginny sighs.

_“I really want to say the right thing to make you feel better without sounding like condescending jerk, Ginny. Tell me what I should say.”_

“I don’t know, Mike.” She shrugs. “I’m sorry, Old Man, but you may not have a speech for this situation.”

They fall back into a brief silence in which Ginny thinks of her Pop.

“The first dead body – dead person I saw,” She says, after a while. “was my Dad.”

She hears him sigh.

“I came to, went looking for him – he’d been thrown out of the car about twenty odd feet…” She swallows. “…they told us he died instantly – that it was unlikely he ever felt pain. But it was the worst thing I’d seen, Mike...” Ginny shakes her head. “His skull was cracked and there was _so_ much blood.”

He doesn’t say anything. She wonders what he’s thinking.

“The next dead body I saw after that - was my last partner. She got made – her cover was blown – we found her body in the sewer. They shut down the operation and pulled us all out. I remember looking at it – and feeling nothing – y’know? It wasn’t like with Pop. And her body was worse. I wasn’t even in shock – I just felt nothing.”

He lets out a small gasp. Ginny wonders if he misinterprets her numbness as apathy to the loss.

 _“Did you catch the guy who did it?”_ He asks, slowly.

“No – and – I’ll be honest, that’s what makes dealing with organized crime that much harder. Your partner dies – it’s on you. It becomes personal. But – we don’t always get the guy.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“She had two kids.” Ginny continues. “Blip and I visited her husband over the weekend. He’s – still a mess. And – every time he sees us, he looks at us with that hope – that we’ve caught the guy. It’s not that he wants revenge, Mike –” She sighs. “I think he just wants some closure. That maybe her death wasn’t in vain.”

He’s still quiet but Ginny feels that his breathing sounds more laboured. She wonders if she should really let him in on the gory details of her job.

“Go on.” He says, softly, when Ginny falls back into silence.

“Blip.” She says. “He – was her handler as well. He blames himself – and I don’t know how he deals with the guilt but at least he makes some effort. He pesters Internal Affairs every week, works on tracking the guy on the side between this op and all his other responsibilities -  and his home and kids. I don’t know how he does it but I know he’s doing something.”

She lets tears fall, knowing he can neither see nor hear them. “Me – I mean, I feel awful about his family. I feel like I should take some effort to track her killer down but…”

_“But?”_

“It feels like a lost game.” She admits. “Not – that I’ve given up, but it’s all a dead end. The fish we were after – the guy who killed her – he fled the state.”

He doesn’t speak.

Ginny continues. “Every time I see her kids – my heart breaks but I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

_“Yeah.”_

“Aren’t you gonna be a perfect boyfriend? Tell me it wasn’t my fault. Tell me I did my best, that the best thing to do is let the system do its job?”

 _“It wasn’t your fault.”_ He answers mechanically. “ _You did your best. The best thing to do is let the system do its job.”_

“Wow.” She scoffs.

 _“Look – I_ know _it wasn’t your fault. Right now, I’m just trying not to freak out about the fact that it could have been you in that sewer and not her.”_

She sighs.

 _“I don’t know what to say but I can tell you what I think.”_  He clears his throat. _“I think,_ _that when the time is right, you’ll get him – unless he ends up eaten by a coyote first – in any case, it’ll still give you the closure you need.”_

Ginny nods, wipes away her dried tears.

_“Just for the record – when I say eaten by a coyote I don’t mean that literally – I meant metaphorically like fate, or karma – or maybe a shark…like a real shark, not a metaphorical shark…”_

“I get it, Old Man.” She rolls her eyes, her mouth curling into a smile. “How can you know that for sure, though?”

_“I don’t know it for sure. I like to think I know you, though.”_

Ginny smiles wider.

“Her boys - they love baseball.” She says, trying to focus on things that make her feel better. “I play some ball with them every time. It makes them happy. And. Oh yeah! They adore you.”

 _“Maybe I’ll come with – the next time you visit.”_ He offers. “ _After all this is done, I mean.”_

“Are you serious? You’d do that for me? Thank you! They’d love that!”

_“Nope, I’d do that for me. I love being a fuckin’ idol, Baker. The admiration and worship I see in those eyes – it moves me. Knowing that I’m a permanent fixture on someone’s wall…or someone’s locker…or they still have my rookie card…”_

Ginny rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

_“Ginny.”_

“Yes?”

_“I know I sound like a broken record but please – be safe.”_

“I will be, don’t worry, Mike.”

 _“That’s…”_ He hesitates. _“I’m saying that for me, you know. I’ll never apologize for being selfish about you.”_

Ginny grins, doesn’t say anything.

 _“Speaking of posters on bedroom walls.”_ He sounds playful. “ _Tell me something, did you look at my poster and – umm - help yourself?”_

“Don’t flatter yourself, Old Man. A – it wasn’t my bedroom wall and B - my admiration was strictly platonic!”

He’s already guffawing at the other end. _“Strictly platonic huh –? So, you never fantasized about me?”_

“Ohmigod, you are _so_ annoying! No you creep! I was a kid!”

_“Not even a little bit?”_

“Nope.” She grins, lying through her teeth, knowing he can’t call her out on it because he can’t see her face.

_“You didn’t imagine what it would be like if I kissed you on the mouth? Or if kissed your neck – on that spot just beneath your ear…”_

Ginny purses her lips and closes her eyes.

_“…maybe get my mouth over your tits…and do that thing – I like doing.”_

She moistens her lips and thumbs her breast over her t-shirt. She feels her nipples strain against the fabric, she pinches one, thinking of the way he does things. The way he gently closes his lips over them, rubs against the soft skin around it with his beard. The way he licks it after – keeps laving with the flat of his tongue until they’re stiff and high. The dark look in his eyes when he looks up at her, biting gently at the swell of her breasts. The way he keeps his eyes open when he lightly tugs a nipple with his teeth.

Ginny holds back a gasp as his deep voice fills her ear with an explicit description of what he’d like to be doing to her  – but her nipples harden, her lower body tightens and her clit feels heavier. She pictures him raking his rough fingers down her body and the scratchy kisses that follow.

“… _and_ …” His voice feels thick and smaller. “… _what if I_ _got my face between your thighs – mm?”_   He sounds innocent, the timbre a little pitchy. “ _Would you – would you open them for me, baby?”_

She doesn’t tell him that they’re already open. That her knees are apart, soles pulled together and she’s sprawled on the bed like a belly-up frog, free hand slipping underneath her cotton panties, other one clutching the phone to her ear like it’s a lifeline.

She feels the week-old stubble prick at her fingers. She thinks of his beard – scraping against her folds.

 _“I’m thinking of how wet you become. Are…”_ She hears a snag in his voice. _“Are you?”_

“Mmm. I kinda am.” She susurrates.

_“I’m thinking how easily you come when I get my mouth over you...”_

“Only for you, Old Man.”

“ _Yeah_?”

“Yeah.”

_“…and how amazing you smell when you’re all hot for me.”_

Ginny sighs loudly, adjusting her body so she can reach further down.

_“What does your clit feel like, baby?”_

“It’s – mm….” She whimpers, screwing her eyes shut tracing the erect nub with her middle finger, she’s not quite sure how to describe it. She’s drawing circles around it – trying to mimic the way he does it -  with his fingers, with his tongue –  with the head of his dick.

 _“When you’re turned on –”_ He answers before she can. “- _it’s firm and soft at the same time. When you’re really turned on – it feels harder, gets all clammy – but babe, when you’re just in the zone…it feels like I’ve got hard candy rolling on my tongue.”_

His voice is low toned and sensual. Ginny moans loudly, adds pressure to her actions. Tries to picture him, thousand miles away on a hotel bed – stroking himself. From the way, he’s breathing – she knows he is. She pictures his penis. Swollen, erect, hard muscle sheathed by moist velvet skin – precum swathing over his length.

“Tell me…” She gasps. “Wh- what…”

 _“What am I doing?”_ He prompts – like he knows what’s been on her mind all this time – even before she knew it.

 _“I’ve got my dick in my hands – and it’s fucking hard, Gin._ ”

She moans, shamelessly at first then feels dirty, right after.

“ _Yeah_ – _it’s really hard_. _‘Cause,_ _I’ve got you on my mind, babe.”_ He breaks off with a small laugh, bordering on bashful. “ _Just you!”_ He adds.

Ginny imagines him screwing his face up, eyes tightly shut, teeth clenched. She imagines the light squelching sounds of his heavy fist pumping his dick.

_“I’m thinking of you – those sounds you make…”_

And as if on cue, she whimpers, tweaks her clit, and jangles her wrist – makes another one.

“ _Yeah – like that one._ _And fuck, Ginny. You’re so beautiful – so strong. Your body is so tight – all over. It’s not just those beautiful perky baubles you call tits, or your perfect pear-shaped ass – it’s your perfect, tight as fuck, pussy also. It’s as strong as you, babe – and I just love how it feels around my dick. Especially when you’re about to come. It’s so tight – and snug, like it - fucking chokes -”_ He breaks off, making a loud nasal grunt.

“Mike…” She whines.

When he speaks again, his voice is a heavy whisper, booming in her ear. “… _Takes everything I got not to blow my shit - right there…”_ He grunts between words.

She whimpers.

_“Where are your fingers baby?”_

“Inside.” She runs her tongue over her lips.

_“How many?”_

She’s already up to two – but Mike’s girth requires at least three to match. Ginny gasps, her spine twisting uncomfortably so she can add the ring finger.

 _“How many, Baker?”_ He growls.

“Enough.” She squeaks.

_“Do you feel how – wet you are inside, baby? Warm, too?”_

“Yeah.”

She gasps loudly and rhythmically, moving them in and out.

 _“I love it like that.”_ He encourages. _“That’s it, fuck yourself for me.”_

Ginny does. She listens to him grunting and panting in her ear – no doubt, doing the same.

 _“That’s it sweetheart…you got it…”_ He says, when she gets louder.

“Mike.” She traps the phone against her shoulder, craning her neck - fists the sheet with her free hand, claws into the mattress under it. “M-more…”

It sounds like speaking is a monumental effort for him. _“You do this thing with your eyebrows….”_ He sounds breathless, tentative. _“You look up at me – like you want me to fuck you hard and deep…and when you’re close – Gin –shit, you turn pink. All over, baby – face, boobs, ass. Fuck – it’s so hot.”_

“Such a sap…” She manages between puffs. She also forcefully relaxes her brow when she realizes she’s doing that thing he’s saying, because it’s not fair that he knows her so well.

_“Got a thumb out?”_

“Yeah.”

 _“Just –”_ He wheezes. _“I dunno…don’t pinch too hard, just – touch your clit…lightly.”_

Ginny moans, loud, strumming her clit with her thumb. It’s what he does when she’s close. Mini-shockwaves propel through her. And really, how unfairly good is he at reading her body?

 _“Shit, shit – fuck!”_ He’s groaning now. _“I wanna get on a flight and come straight over. I wanna spread you out till your thighs hurt, stuff my dick inside you, fill you up - go deeper – as deep as you’ll take me…and I wanna fuck you so hard – you won’t be able to walk straight, for a week.”_

“Mike…” She cries out. Her arm’s aching now, but she doesn’t want this to end.

_“Are you close?”_

“Mmhmm.”

_“So am I. You want me to go first?”_

“Yes.” She pleads.

 _“Of course, you do!”_ He breathes a laugh. _“Such a naughty girl you are.”_

Ginny gasps.

_“Oh – you like that mm? Next time I’ll say all sorts of nasty things…”_

“Mmhm?” Her voice shakes. “Like what?”

_“Like – dirty, naughty, little girl. Always interrupting me. So brazen, such a hussy!”_

“Hussy?” She chortles. “What is that? The 19th century word for beeyatch? I didn’t think you were _that_ old, mister.”

_“I’m old enough to know how to keep you in line.”_

“Do you, Captain?”

He makes a noise then. _“Yeah, ‘cause - you’re always hungry for cock, aren’t you? My cock?”_

“Always…” She affirms, feeing like she’s going to crawl out her skin.

_“And you want me to give it to you, so bad, don’t you?”_

“Are you gonna give it to me?” She’s purrs, filth pouring out her mouth, her mind flooded with the image of him hovering on top of her – pounding at her with that desperate look on his face, his ass thrusting at her like it’s on a mission. “You gonna give me it to me good – Captain? You’re so big and thick and long - I feel you for hours after we fuck. I’ll be thinking about you all day – even at work.”

“ _Fuck_!”

“I just want to make you happy…Captain.” She half-pleads, half-offers in a tiny, childish voice. “Are you happy?”

 _“Fucking delirious -  baby.”_ He bites out. “ _Ecstatic. Euphoric.”_

“You gonna – ah- do that thing where you slap my ass…”

He growls at first. _“Your pert ass is all mine, anyway – so I might as well.”_

“Says who?” She goads. “I don’t see your name written on it.”

 _“There’s other ways to mark you, babe - and I’m going to make sure you remember that you’re mine.”_ He breaks off with a gasp.

She hums, twists her knuckles – her hips jolting off the bed. “Mm.” She growls, urgently. “Nope.”

 _“Mine, just mine.”_ He chants, like he’s begging. “ _You’re mine, aren’t you? Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”_

“Maybe.”

He hisses like he’s seeing red. _“Don’t you dare fuck with me right now, Baker! Say it!”_ He roars.

She has one hand scratching at the headboard, splinters of wood stabbing under her fingernails when she curls it for purchase. The hand inside her feels fatigued, and tired, the elbow feels like there’s hot lead stuffed into it, her wrist is throbbing and she’s thrashing her legs around, uncomfortably contorting her body, trying to reach that spot inside her that his member finds so easily when he’s inside her. She’s surprised she still has the energy to be brat. “Nope.”

 _“You’re mine, and you know it. You’re_ my _sexy, horny, filthy, little slu–Gin! C’mon!”_

“Yeah! Okay! I’m yours.” She blurts, because she wants to hear him come now. “I’m cumming.” She announces like it’s some imperative.

And sure enough - _“Shit! Oh Shit! Fuck!_ ” He barks out, before a loud, thunderous growl detonates through her ear.

Ginny follows him within seconds – her whole body in erratic spasms once before relief and delight explode all over in mini-blasts.

 

_“Baker?”_

Ginny’s pretty sure some body parts are broken.

_“Baker?”_

She doesn’t know how long he’s been repeating her name to pull her back to the real world.

“Mmm?” She pulls her hands out of her panties and wipes her thin release on her t-shirt after inhaling her own scent. It’s tart and strong – and inexplicably triggers the memory her of his stronger, virile, headier scent.

He lets out a high-pitched winded chuckle. _“You know you own my sorry old ass, right?”_

“Damn straight.” She laughs. “I do.”

They giggle like fools for a bit until Mike’s voice changes to his usual grumpy tone. “Hey! Tell me your punk-ass partner isn’t at home.”

Ginny looks up at the thin wall between Livan’s room and hers, vaguely remembering the soft, angry pounding noises on the wall -  a chastisement and a reminder that he’s awake and can hear her.

She decides to plead the fifth.

 _“Well fuck me.”_ He bites out, when she doesn’t reply.

She giggles, wiping off the film of sweat over her forehead.

 _“Eh, what the hell.”_ She can hear his self-satisfied mischievous smirk in his voice. _“Wanna go another?”_

 

* * *

 

 _“And the Padres win the game! 7-2.  That heroic grand slam, by Mike Lawson – though! What a great start to their road trip!”_ The commentator roars. “ _Whatever that guy is on, let’s hope he’s on it all season – because if he keeps it up, the Padres just might make the playoffs this year.”_

* * *

* * *

 

_“Baker, it’s Noelle. Someone reported a violent crime, yesterday up at the 124 th in Northern. Some high-profile PR lady from LA. Something came up in connection to it that you are not going to believe! Can you make it ? Blip and I are already on our way.”_

“Amelia Slater?” Ginny exclaims, as soon as she enters to observation room and spots the impeccably dressed blonde woman pacing up and down on the interrogation side. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I guess it’s safe to presume that Margie knows her.” Blip says, giving her _that_ look.

“Is that the _bruha_?” Duarte peers. “Damn, she’s hot.”

“Oh – it appears you both know her.” Blip sings. “How interesting. Someone care to fill me in?”

“Actually – she’s Mike’s agent.” Ginny sighs, palming her face. “We met at Violet’s party. Erm – _Margie_ met her.”

Blip crosses his arms, waiting for her explanation. When she doesn’t offer anything more he speaks. “She never told me _anything_ about Margie in relation to _that_. Never mentioned Mike – even once.”

That astonishes Ginny.

“She – um – saw us at the party. Me and Mike - flirting. She got suspicious that Margie was fishing for a Sugar Daddy and ran a background check on her.” Ginny says. “Found the records we faked.” Ginny looks at Noelle and Blip sheepishly. “I let her believe whatever she wanted to – for the sake of the op. _She’s_ um – really protective of Mike.”

Blip nods like he believes her but he still suspects there’s more to the story.

“She reported Margie missing.” Noelle says. “Gave the detective a photo of Margie’s driver’s license. He flagged it on the intranet. That’s how we got on to this.”

“ _She_ filed a missing report on Margie?” Ginny exclaims incredulously. “Why would she do that?” Ginny wonders if it’s some ploy for Amelia to keep a track of Margie. “Is she insane?” She mutters.

“Actually, it didn’t start out that way. She came here reporting an aggravated assault.” Blip says. “She _allegedly_ saw – Vincent Gleason Junior beating one of the girls at _The Club_. Intervened – got the girl some help. The girl wouldn’t press charges – and when Slater tried to check up on her she found her missing. She’s worried that it’s happened before. It seems another girl she knew who worked at _The Club_ disappeared, a couple of weeks ago. A  - Margie Tyrell.”

“She represents Violet Gleason, Blip.” Ginny says. “How do you know this isn’t Violet trying to flood Margie out?”

“I don’t think this is a trick.” Blip says. “She resigned from her firm yesterday. I’ve confirmed that. Says that she was asked to cover up the incident and to quote her statement: ‘I will not represent a beating asshole’. He points to Amelia. “Look at her, Ginny – her world is falling apart!”

Sure enough, the woman is marching back and forth along the length of the room restlessly. Her styled hair looks like it’s frizzing with humidity. Despite the makeup – she looks fatigued and stressed out. Eyes swollen, nose red, grinding her teeth, lower lip quivering occasionally, wiping tears away from her cheeks.

“A PR agent with a conscience?” Duarte snorts. “Looks like she’s gonna need her cheque back earlier than we thought.”

“What cheque?” Blip frowns.

Ginny sighs, mentally prepares herself to tell Blip the whole truth about how long she and Mike have been involved.

“Wait – I don’t wanna know.” Blip extends his palm. “I think she’s telling the truth.” He says. “Look – I called you here to offer you a choice. The girl who went missing isn’t registered as an escort on the app. She was hired at _The Club_ three weeks back and looks like she was just a waitress.”

“Vincent’s not allowed to touch the escorts.” Ginny says. “So – maybe she was.”

“According to the DMV records, she was from Tucson so we’re trying to get in touch with her family.” Noelle says.

Blip taps at the window. “Miss Slater seems like a tough woman. She’s no longer ethically bound to Violet or Vincent. They can’t use her testimony against Vincent without finding the victim, but maybe she can help _us_ fill in some blanks on Violet.  It seems to me that she’s given up a lucrative job to do the right thing. That deserves some level of respect in my dictionary.”

He looks at Ginny meaningfully. “It is up to you if you want to put her at ease about Margie. If you decide ‘yes’ – I’m turning off all the audio, and Noelle and I are going for a twenty-minute drive.  If you decide ‘no’ – then I’m going to talk to her, question her as though I don’t know anything about Margie. _But_ \- ” He raises his eyebrows at her and Duarte. “If _anything_ comes up – in connection to any inappropriate conduct by either of my subordinate officers…” He looks between her and Duarte. “Suspension will be the least of your worries. I’ll be comin’ after your badges. Choice is yours.”

Ginny chews on the corner of her lip and glances at Livan.

“Yes.” She tells Blip.

 

 

Amelia’s shock is palpable. It amazes Ginny how vulnerable she appears when she isn’t her usual patronizing, overbearing self.

Ginny doesn’t have to ask her to sit down. She grapples for the chair and collapses into it – looking very much like she’s ready to faint.

She places a bottle of water and a cup of coffee in front of her.

“Is that decaf?” Amelia whispers, eyes glued to the badge that Ginny has pinned to left lapel of her jacket.

“It’s that or nothing.” Ginny shrugs. “For the record –” Ginny taps her badge, “-this is real.”

“You’re…” She croaks.

Amelia glances beyond her to Duarte and then back at her and then lets out a hiss, slumping her head on the table, hiding her face in her elbows. “I feel so stupid.” Comes her muffled complaint.

“Yeah, that’s the idea.” Duarte taunts.

She rises, pushing her hair back. There are tears in her eyes. “Look – I meant everything I said that time. Mike is – was – my priority. I was just trying to protect him. When it comes to him, I’d yell at the Pope if I have to.”

“Which is the only reason…” Ginny says, sternly. “I’m not arresting your contemptuous ass for interference.”

Amelia exhales loudly, shutting her eyes. “So – you’re not really Margie Tyrell.”

“I’m Officer Baker.” Ginny says. “That’s my partner - Detective Duarte. We work with Permits and Licensing – the Vice unit. All I can tell you is that we are investigating a prostitution racket in relation to the escort service that you found Margie registered on.”

“Does – Mike know?”

Ginny doesn’t reply, she doesn’t owe Amelia any explanations.

“Of course, he does.” Amelia echoes, shaking her head.

“I’m presuming you know that Mr. Lawson helped us out with Mr. Stubbs’ situation? We conducted that operation at Petco.”  Duarte adds.

“Mike – and I are not on talking terms at the moment.” She says. “But I heard – later.”

Ginny nods.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Amelia asks, shaking her head repeatedly, like she’s struggling with the truth.

“And risk blowing my cover?” Ginny frowns. “Do you have any idea what kind of people we deal with, lady?”

Amelia’s face caves. She blinks away tears, looks at the coffee with a modicum of disgust.

“You think you have some idea – don’t you?” Ginny bites. “You saw what a mean sonnovabitch Vinnie was and you think that’s bad – well, that’s _nothing_! Vinnie’s just the creamy layer - top scum. There’s a whole other level of dirty at the bottom of that pond that you would not believe.”

Ginny pulls out the folded cheque she always keeps in her pocket and pushes it Amelia. “You think you were protecting Mike – well, Margie was protecting him, too. Maybe she’s not what one would call an A-level groupie, maybe she didn’t have a respectable job – but doesn’t mean people like her don’t have a heart or deserve to be treated with dignity.”

Amelia sniffles and crosses her arms and speaks, fiercely, “I’m not a heartless unsympathetic snob, Mar- _Officer_!”

“You saw me in an SDPD jacket in broad daylight, at a public stadium and still presumed that I was a stripper!” Ginny grimaces, baring her teeth, speaking in a low, harsh tone. “What exactly does that make you?”

Amelia looks remorseful. She drops her face, takes the cheque leaf, unfolds it and thumbs its edges.

Ginny lets her stew for a bit and then levels her voice. “ _I’d_ say that makes you a snob…” Ginny states. “But – I will never call you heartless – or unsympathetic.”

Amelia looks up at her.

“I was afraid someone would take advantage of him.” Amelia says, colour returning to her face. “And he – was shattered after his wife – left. I was worried he would lean on the closest crutch he could find. It wouldn’t be the first time a man like him fell for a gold-digger. Celebrities are people too, y’know.”

Ginny rubs her eyebrows. “The fact that you look out for him is something I appreciate.” Ginny says, in a softer tone. “Now, you wanna tell me what happened? This is – an off the record interview. I need to know if my identity has been compromised.”

Duarte pulls a chair up, while Amelia reaches for the water. They give her the time she needs to regain her composure.

“My agency represents Violet Gleason’s personal brand, and takes care of her PR.” She says, in her usual calm, icy crisp tone. “Violet is bidding for a company and once the acquisition is complete – and we had an announcement party planned. Her preference was to have the party at _The Club_ rather than some other venue. It has a better profile and because she owns it – it would be cheaper to lease, we’d have a higher budget for all the other stuff, there’d be more control on staff and security. So - four days ago, I went by to scout the venue, have a talk with Vincent Jr. about the dates.”

“What time?” Duarte asks.

“Around lunchtime - it’s supposed to be closed for business around that time. I figured Vinnie would be free to talk. I didn’t call beforehand.” She closes her eyes and shivers.

“Go on.” Ginny prompts gently.

“I stepped in – and I saw him slapping this girl.” Amelia’s eyes avert. “She was young. Couldn’t have been more than twenty.” Amelia speaks as though she’s still reeling from shock. “Vinnie, he - he was out of control…” Amelia shivers. “It was awful – he beat her up pretty bad! I stopped him – threatened to call the police – that’s when he backed off.” Amelia glances at her. “I always knew he was a jerk and a loser – but I never pegged him for a brute.”

They give Amelia a moment before Livan speaks softly. “What happened next?”

“I took her to the hospital, got her checked out – called the police anyway. She wouldn’t press charges. She was – frightened out of her wits. Violet called me that night, apologized for him and begged me not to say anything. She said she was getting Vinnie some help.” Amelia looks disgusted. “ _Like_ – it had happened before.”

“Did they arrest him?” Livan asks.

“The police said they couldn’t do anything about him if the girl wasn’t ready to report it. So, I thought I’d go over the next day – try and talk to her. I have friends who can help her. Societies, organizations that could provide her refuge. She – she’s disappeared. I tried to track her down – it’s been forty-eight hours, now. Yesterday, Violet called up my boss and threated to sue the firm for defamation if I kept pursuing this. My boss – he – told me not to get involved. So, I quit.”

She looks up at Ginny with wet eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here and reported her missing.”

“Why’d you report Margie missing?” Ginny asks.

“When I saw you at Petco I assumed you’d opted for freelancing. I remember Vinnie being furious about you vanishing without notice when I enquired. After this incident - I started to wonder if Margie would be able to help. Maybe give me some information on Vincent’s behaviour – when I went to your registered address the landlord said you’d taken off weeks ago.” She looks up at her. “There was no record or trace of you. I got worried. Especially after I saw what Vincent was capable of.”

“Did you tell Vincent – or Violet about me and Mike?”

“No – I – I didn’t.” Amelia says, glancing at Duarte. “I swear. I wouldn’t have – even before this. I know I’m aggressive – Officer. And I’ll be honest, I never thought much of Margie, but that didn’t mean I wanted bad things to happen to her.”

Ginny acknowledges that with a nod. 

“I came here to report him and both missing girls. I mean, I had yours – Margie’s picture from my search, so - ” She sighs. “Well, I guess I found you.”

Ginny softens, she relaxes herself and smiles at Amelia. “What you’re doing, what you did for that girl – that took courage, Miss Slater.” She places a comforting hand on Amelia’s slender wrist. “It’s brave and makes you honourable. Even your concern for Margie despite the circumstances. I want you to know I respect that, okay?”

Amelia stares at her for a long time and then nods.  

“Okay…” Ginny says. “Detective Sergeant Sanders, whom you met earlier – he’ll be back soon and we’ll take your statement. We’ll put an APB out on the girl – we’ll try our best to find her.”

Amelia nods.

“We’re going to be asking you some questions about the Gleasons. Will you be comfortable answering them?”

“I –” Amelia squeezes her eyelids. “I never expected Violet to be like this. I looked up to her.” Amelia opens her blue eyes and they are filled with anguish. “I pitched and begged for this account because she – she represented something to me. This successful businesswoman, widowed at a young age, took both her husband’s and her father’s legacy and built it up to this – conglomerate. She– succeeded in a man’s world. She represented integrity, determination, enterprise, perseverance, beauty, class, poise –  style. I saw her as a role model that young women could look up to.” Amelia shakes her head. “Sweeping an assault against a helpless girl under the carpet - just because he’s her son – ?”

She exhales a shaky breath and stares at Ginny for a long time.

“Yes, _yes_.” She nods, calmly stressing her words. “I will tell you whatever I know.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“Great job on the game, Old Man.”

_“I’m thinking we should…”_

“No.”

_“But you don’t even know what I was gonna…”_

“Nope.

_“But…”_

“We are not having phone sex before the away games.”

 _“Wh-hy”_ He whines like a teenager.

“I am not indulging your silly pre-game superstitions.”

_“But every time you and I engage in sexual activity we win! And c’mon? Phone sex makes things so much easier, right? It’s convenient!”_

“Nope.”

_“C’mon! Don’t you want us to make it to post-season? I thought the Padres was your favourite team!”_

“No.”

 _“Okay, fine –”_ He sulks. _“I guess I’m gonna have to bring you along with me for every game.”_

“Oh god, are we back to this again?”

_“Hey! I offered you an out with the phone sex. If that’s not happening, then I’m going to have to carry you along with me to all the away games. Even if I must forcefully throw you over my shoulder – I’ll do it. For the team.”_

“Your knees wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

_“That’s true – you are kinda heavy.”_

“You are in for some big trouble when I get my hands on you, old man.”

_“Looking forward to it.”_

“So am I.” She smirks.

_“So, my agent just told me that Amelia quit the agency.”_

“I thought Amelia was your agent.”

_“My sports agent. Amelia is – my commercial agent. I guess she isn’t my agent anymore…the agency is assigning me a new one. She’s still pissed off at me so I don’t honestly know what happened. I’m wondering if they fired her because she doesn’t wanna work with me anymore.”_

“I don’t think that’s the case.”

_“Oh?”_

“Yeah, I’ll explain later, hey - you should terminate your contract with them. Go with her. Keep her as your agent.”

_“Why?”_

“Because…” she insists. “You should. Are you happy with her work?”

_“She’s great at her work. It’s not about that…”_

“Is she a good publicist or agent, or whatever?”

_“She is – but this isn’t about that -!”_

“Is she a friend?”

_“Baker – yes – but this isn’t about that, either.”_

“Trust me! Sign with her.”

_“What is going on, Baker? What happened to all the ‘snooty li’l twat’?”_

“I know she jumped ship without even as much as a lifebuoy for a good reason.  I’ll explain once you’re back okay?”

He makes a noise that could either be an amused grunt or a sarcastic snort.

 _“Yeah okay –”_ He sounds mulish. “ _If she calls I’ll probably…”_

“No, _you_ call her. Be the good, loyal man that lives under the forest of facial hair.”

 _“Forest of -!”_ He scoffs. _“Y’know what? If I am done listening to all your beard-spite! I’m gonna shave it tonight. Your time trolling the beard is done, Baker. Don’t complain if I can’t get you to come as fast as - ”_

“No!” She cries. His smugness is loathsome, but not as much the idea of _not_ feeling all that sexy scruff against her ladybits.

“ _Ha_!”

“Whatever.”

 _“Baker…”_ Mike sighs, in his serious-voice. _“I don’t owe anyone anything.”_

“You need good people who are loyal to you, Mike.” Ginny stresses. “People who will stick up for you, guard you – and fight for you. Even if it means offending others. People who stand by you for the right reasons. People who are your friends first.”

_“But - ”_

“Call her now.”

_“I’ll call her in the…”_

“Do it!” She barks. She gets a crick in her neck from jerking it. Too bad, Mike can’t see how earnest she is.

_“What, like now? It’s like – one a.m. there!”_

Ginny exhales exasperatedly.

“ _Okay_.” He gripes.  

Ginny grins when he just hangs up the phone instantly without as much as a bye.

Her calls her back about ten minutes later, sounding grumpy and mopey. _“You really own my sorry ass, don’t you, Baker?”_ He says, before Ginny can get in a ‘hello’.

She can imagine the cute, cranky look on his face that she adores. She’s seized with the urge to just reach through the phone and grab his chubby cheeks and smoosh her face against his.

_“I’d say that deserves at least one round of a good luck- phone fuck for tomorrow’s game, don’t you?”_

Ginny covers her giggles with a hand to her mouth. “Got you covered, Old Man.”

 _“What are you wearing?”_ He asks, snorting.

“A Padres jersey with the number thirty-six on it.” She smirks, looking down on herself.

A sharp gasp precedes his whisper. “ _And_?”

“And nothing else.”

“ _Fuck_.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you mean she didn’t see a dime from her father?” Blip frowns.

“Haven’t you read her book?” Amelia frowns.

“What book?”

“ _Bed of Violets_? Her memoirs? I arranged the ghost-writer! It’s all there.” Amelia says. “We launched it, about six months back. It’s already a bestseller.”

Blip shakes his head. Amelia looks at Ginny and Duarte. They shrug and shake their heads.

“Her father was dead set against her marrying Vincent Gleason.” Amelia elaborates, sighing resignedly. “Vincent didn’t have any financial backing and her father accused him of wanting to marry Violet for money. Her father couldn’t stop her from collecting the cheques from her mother’s contribution to the trust fund but he made life difficult in every other way. They were estranged for a long time – even after Vincent died. She had to struggle those years.”

Ginny learns a life lesson in that moment. _Before you go fishing, read the fish’s ghost-written tacky-titled memoirs._ She feels foolish – from the look on Blip’s face she reckons he feels the same.

“Is there anything that isn’t there in the book that you can tell us?”

“Why all these questions about Violet?” Amelia frowned.

“You said you’d cooperate.” Blip points out.

“Yeah, but it sounds like you’re investigating her and not Vincent.” Amelia’s eyes widen with sudden realization. “Oh.”

She scans their faces and then asks. “What did she do?”

No one answers her.

“Is she involved in – what you were investigating?” She asks Ginny, her face flooding with horror.

Ginny doesn’t react but – Amelia is a smart woman.

“Oh – my – god.” She echoes with shock.

“We’d appreciate if you kept this to yourself.” Blip says, a low warning in his undertone.

“Am I liable for anything?” Amelia looks concerned. “I mean, I just did the standard stuff: promotions, party planning, press and photo ops, PR mailers…commercial endorsements.”

“Not yet.” Blip says. “And don’t worry. We’re not recording anything you say – so if it comes to it, we can’t stop you from denying anything. We’ll let you know if you need a lawyer, Miss Slater, don’t worry. Right now, we just want information.”

Amelia wets her mouth. “Look, I do know some things that aren’t written in the book. Things Violet confided in me when there were some discrepancies the writer found in her story. Vincent did marry her for the money. He was an abusive and controlling husband. He only allowed Violet the trips to Boston to collect the cheques from her trust fund because she had to personally sign for them. Apparently, he ensured that Vinnie junior would stay with him. I figured that was why she begged me not to report his behaviour.” Amelia tosses her head. “But that is exactly why I had to report it. I thought he’d taken after his father and he needs to know there are consequences to things like that.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type to be a doormat.” Ginny comments.

“She isn’t – but she was a young mother without her own source of income. No one knew what was going on behind closed doors. She wanted to keep it quiet for Vinnie’s sake. And – her father was a proud man. He refused to see her all those years – even after Vincent senior died. In fact, he cut her out the original will – left his assets to the board of directors. It’s only after his stroke, when she took over, that their relationship improved.”

Amelia pauses to breathe. “See, that’s why I admired her. She – fought her battles with dignity and grace and made it to where she is. That is not easy. I saw her as an inspiration to womanhood.”

Noelle enters Blip’s office, just then. “I got an update. The girl –?  She’s safe. She reached her parents’ house in Tucson, yesterday.”

Amelia sags with relief evident on her face and in her sigh.

“She’s unwilling to press charges so I’ve contacted a friend in the Tucson PD. He’ll get her some counselling, give her a security detail for the next couple of days.” Noelle adds.

Ginny smiles reassuringly at Amelia. “She would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in when you did. And you didn’t have to go all this way – even afterwards.”

Amelia gives her a wan smile that makes her look gentler – more maternal. “I knew she needed me.” Amelia states.

“She did.” Ginny agrees. “Thank you for everything, Amelia. Really.”

“Can you tell us anything about her bid to take over the _Padres_?” Duarte asks.

“I don’t know the details. She wants to be a primary stakeholder – and I just know acquisition talks are about to be completed by the end of the week – the _Padres’ll_ be back from their road trip about then. I heard they changed the party venue to Petco – and they’ll release press statements there. That’s as far as I know – now that I’m out – I can’t even get you a copy of the invite.”

They nod.

“We’re going to give you a security detail as well.” Blip says. “It’s just a precaution. We suggest you not divulge anything to anyone – and lay low. Do not –” Blip warns “And I repeat, do not - confront either Vincent, or Violet. We’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks.”

“You planning to go back to LA now?” Noelle enquires.

“No actually. I’m starting up my own agency.” She glances at Ginny and gives her a genuine smile. “I already have my first client.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

“He had LSD in his system.” Duarte says. “Apparently, Vincent Senior was a serious junkie. He died from an overdose and the ME confirmed it. There’s a recorded statement from Violet that backs it up. No foul play was suspected at the time.”

“How did we miss this?” Wasserman asks.

“She petitioned for a gagging order. Gleason Tech was getting relaunched under her leadership. They didn’t want negative publicity – it was granted.” Ginny answers.

Duarte points to a board on which they constructed the timeline.

“A closer scrutiny of her finances around that time –“ He explains. “- shows multiple deposits made in excess to Gleason Tech’s baseline capital. It was transferred from her father’s account except they weren’t authorized by him. It was authorized by Ximena Ruiz. Her father’s personal attorney.” Duarte points to a picture.

“She came to the states as an _au pair_ to Violet’s famly. A law student. She was like a surrogate mother to Violet. She also eventually became her father’s mistress. Ximena is Bebe Dominguez’s only niece – the man everyone suspected to be the original _La Vibora_. He was killed in a firefight with the National Police in Bogota and _La Vibora’s_ activities started stateside few years later. Ruiz passed the bar – eventually wheedled her way as Violet’s father’s personal attorney. I suspect…” Livan purses his mouth. “That she was instrumental getting Violet back into managing her father’s business and eventually his will. She died about eight years ago - cancer. No survivors. The closest person this woman had to a relative – was Violet Gleason. And it’s around that time that Violet started moving all operations to San Diego. It parallels increase in The Viper’s activity on the West Coast.”

“We’ve found your Colombian connection.” Blip says. “Now can we please get this evil woman off our streets?

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 _“But I don’t wanna go.”_ Mike whines on the phone.

“You have to!”

_“I’m supposed to stand there and get my photo taken with a woman who – let’s forget she’s your Penguin – she hurt you!”_

“So?”

_“So, you’re my girlfriend! It’s an insult to me. It’s emasculating!”_

“How does the Captain of the _Padres_ getting a photo taken with the new owner emasculate him?”

_“I don’t know it just does! I feel like I should at least pee in her drink.”_

“I’m sorry, wh-wh-wh-?”

_“To defend your honour or something like that.”_

“And peeing in her drink is the way to do that?”

_“Well I can’t really nut-punch her, can I? She’s the new owner of the Padres and…”_

“And?”

“ _And…”_ His voice drops. _“…and she’s a woman. No nuts to punch.”_

She huffs.

_“You’re not gonna make a feminist argument for equal rights to get nut-punched among evil conniving villains, are you?”_

“If you don’t go people will ask all sorts of questions. There’s already enough speculation after you waved the no-trade clause.”

_“But Rachel will be there!”_

“Mike.”

_“Ugh! You’re exhausting! Yeah okay. I guess it’s pointless to ask you to be my plus one – you’ll probably turn me down and wound my pride.”_

“Actually, that’s why I want you to go. I need an invite to that thing.”

_“What? Seriously?”_

“Yes.”

_“You’re gonna be on the job, aren’t you?”_

“Yes.”

_“God, that is so hot. You gonna hide your gun under your dress? Will you let me see it?”_

“I’m going there to keep an eye on a vicious criminal and that’s all you got to say?”

_“No – actually I was gonna say we should meet up, have a good luck quickie – you know ‘cause I owe you.”_

“Never said you were good luck for me, Old Man.”

_“You just couldn’t let me have that one – could you?”_

Ginny giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the amelia reveal is sedate. i actually like her character a lot when she isn't bonking Mike - so the bitchy reveal didn't work.  
> 


	10. Fragmentation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginny's dress:  
>    
> 

_“Gleason Capital’s acquisition of the controlling interest in the in the San Diego Padres franchise has only fuelled speculation that Mike Lawson was, in fact, placed on waivers beforehand in an effort to trade him. Sources say that the new owner, Violet Gleason is interested in bringing in fresh blood into the team. This also leaves the fate of long time team manager Al Luongo in question. The Padres spokesperson has neither confirmed nor denied news, though sources say Lawson might have okayed a trade to some solid contenders. Despite a rocky start to their season, the Padres are now front runners for the Wild Card. A lifelong Padre, Lawson’s dynamic contribution over the past weeks is credited to have been a driving force overcoming the team’s disappointing performance in the first couple of months…”_

 

Ginny turns off the TV and answers the phone on speaker, hurriedly rushing back to her closet. “Hello?”

 _“It is bad enough...”_ Mike barks, his booming voice loud enough to fill the room, _“that I’m supposed to show up at - possibly_ the _worst office party in the history of office parties -”_

“It’s way too high profile to be an office party, Old Man.”

“ _Ah – I love these little interruptions.”_ He snarks. “ _It is an office party, FYI. I have to suck up to all the fuckers who sign my cheque, and pretend that I like their greedy corporate asses. I’m going to spend the evening playing hide’n’seek with my pain-in-the-ass sports reporter ex-wife, I’m going to have to pretend to shake hands with the new boss, who – by the way, is an evil mastermind criminal, who – might also, trade me away the very next day – ?”_

“Like you don’t have a say in it.” Ginny scoffs, picking out the poshest dress she owns. A powder blue number with knit embellishments and a small horizontal cut-out over the belly.

 _“This is me ignoring you interrupting me.”_ He says. _“What are you doing anyway? It sounds like I’m on speaker.”_

“Picking out a dress for my first appearance at my boyfriend’s office party, apparently.”

“ _Really_? _Are you excited?”_

“Nope.”

“ _As I was saying – I have to go through all that –”_ He speaks more slowly, more emphatically. “ _And I was okay with it! Really! I was! You know why? I’d finally get to show off my badass, hot-as-hell policewoman girlfriend, and feel her up behind the punch bowl.”_

“Why would they have a punch bowl at the rooftop lounge?”

_“It’s metaphor. Punch bowl, open bar. Whatever. I missed this you know? You constantly interrupting me. Don’t stop really. It’s so charming.”_

“Mmhm.” She hangs the dress up against the door and stripping out of her clothes. It’s not the dress she would have worn for her first time out with her boyfriend at his ‘office party’ but it would easily hide the devices she needs to wear.

_“Are you changing?”_

“Maybe.”

_“That means there’s a good chance you’re naked. And I’m sitting here thinking about you naked. And now I…”_

“Mike!”

 _“Right, yeah. So, you’re saying that – not only can we_ not _go together but also – I am not allowed to feel you up?”_

“Nope.” Ginny stifles giggles.

 _“C’mon –”_ He whines. “ _I haven’t seen you since San Francisco! Don’t you think you should meet me beforehand? Don’t you want to_ personally _thank me for sending you a hard to get, exclusive invite to the flickering end of my time with the Padres?”_

“The city of San Diego thanks you for your service.” She retorts, pulling the dress on and stuffing objects under it at strategic places, to see if it will suffice.

 _“There’s only one service I want to perform.”_ He grumbles. _“And it’s not for the city.”_ He sounds like he’s perking up. “ _What if I -”_

“No.”

_“But I haven’t even told…”_

“Old Man, you put your hand up my skirt, you will find my service-weapon.”

 _“Actually, I was gonna say ‘grab your boobs’ but,”_ he cackles, “ _now…”_ He sobers up. “ _Now_ , _I_ have _to put my hands up your skirt to find your service-weapon.”_

“You’ll also find a bullet hole in your thirteen-million-dollar catcher hands.”

 _“Actually, it’s somewhere around_ _sixteen_.”

“Seriously?”

 _“Yeah.”_ He sounds smug.

“What do they pay you that much money for?”

“ _Er_ …” He sounds sarcastic. _“Winning?”_

“Really?” She mocks “Is that what you were doing all April and May?”

He harrumphs.

She’s not done. “Maybe it was for all the petulant pacing in the dugout and the snappin’ and cussin’ at everybody because they didn’t let you play today?”

Ginny giggles when a cranky silence follows

 _“They don’t want me to get hurt.”_ He sounds sulky.

“Neither do I.” Ginny says, sobering up. And, she means more than a sports injury – and from the tired sigh Mike lets out, she knows he understands her implication.

_“I don’t get it, why can’t you just arrest her?”_

“It’s complicated. Captain’s going with the Feds to conduct a raid. Once we find proof a federal warrant comes in effect. It makes it easier for us to arrest her and – neither her goons, nor her lawyers will be able to stop us.”

_“Won’t she recognize you?”_

“That’s why Livan’s coming, too. He’s going to cover me.”

_“Why can’t you use the cameras?”_

“There aren’t enough in that lounge and…” She huffs. “It’s a covert operation. We can’t man the camera rooms without either permission from the Park or the City – that risks tipping her off.”

_“Wow…all this - it sounds so -  surreal.”_

“Yeah.”

_“You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. She can’t touch you.”_

“Yeah.” She exhales, shaking off her nerves, feeling apprehensive. “I just want this to be over, Mike.”

 _“I know, Gin. Me too.”_ He sounds sincere _. “And, when it is?”_

“Yeah?”

_“Maybe you can put your hand down my pants and find my service weapon?”_

Ginny bursts out laughing.

_“Ah! that horsey laugh…”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“Remember, you two are eyes and ears only” Blip reiterates. “Your purpose is to make sure we know where Violet is at all times. Once we get confirmation from Wasserman, we are going to move in quietly. There is to be no drama, no theatrics, no heroics. I will not have a single civilian harmed and the last thing I need is a _Padre_ injured off field because of a high-profile arrest gone wrong. Air-support is on standby. If the raid is a fail – you two leave quietly. No confrontations.” Blip looks at them both pointedly. “Am I clear?”

Ginny and Livan nod.

“Bellamy just radioed, the FBI have entered the cargo terminal. They’re shutting off cell towers around the port temporarily to prevent any tip offs. But, that doesn’t mean Violet won’t have other ways of keeping tab on her assets. So be careful.”

“Yes sir.” Ginny affirms, exchanging a glance with Livan.

“Okay…!” The tech comes forward to check their covert devices. “Final checks, please?”

Ginny checks the wireless receiver fitted inside her ear and adjusts the PTT button on the nano-size microphone hidden under neckline of her powder blue dress. She twists to her side and feels for the Bluetooth radio that connects to both. She checks the gun strapped to her thigh and finally places her phone and badge into the clutch that also holds an invite with her name on it in Mike’s scribbly handwriting.

“Godspeed,” Blip tells her, when it’s time. “And…” She turns back to Blip when it seems like he has more to say. He nods at her, something akin to respect and solidarity in his eyes. “Good work.”

 

The party is an exclusive, invite-only scene, with no fanfare and limited press coverage being held at a restricted, high-class lounge at the rooftop level, overlooking the right field at Petco. The guest list was as select as its location. Senior _Padres_ and Gleason Incorporation executives, the team players and managers, senior coaches, few high-ranking MLB officials, and select sportscasters including Rachel Patrick.

“Duarte, you copy?” Ginny checks in as she walks towards the elevator.

Duarte confirms on the comm. _“I’m inside – east service entrance.”_

She recognizes three _Padres_ players with three women when she enters the elevator. Salvamini, Hinkley and Evers. They’re chatting and joking. The women who seem like they’re respective wives, are smiling and giggling with them. They all exchange polite smiles and greetings with her before exiting the elevator, walking ahead of her to the winding cast-iron and wood stairwell that leads up to the loft entrance of the rooftop.

“No security screening?” She whispers, lagging back, noticing that the doormen aren’t using metal detectors.

_“Nope. Petco is a no firearm zone. Staff and guests are screened before entering the park, security boys are armed anyway. You should be fine, Mami.”_

“Copy that.” She flashes the invite, walks up the steps, “I’m through.”

“ _Copy that_.” Blip responds. _“All units be advised, coverts are inside.”_

The lounge is a large capacity venue with an indoor enclosure and larger outdoor decks. Both the open area and the enclosed parts of the rooftop are tastefully decked with flowy curtains, glass lamps, lots of baubles and crystals. There are posters and pictures on the walls of Padres teams and owners throughout the years and decorative side-stands holding Padres memorabilia in glass cases including baseball bats, gloves and balls.

She does a quick preliminary walkthrough of the enclosed section, tallying the layout with the schematic they’d memorized. She identifies three pillars that are cloaked with thick panel-like curtains that would permit her to hide behind them whilst giving her a vantage point of the party and the guests, in case she needs to duck away from Violet.

“There’s an exit to the terrace level, on the southeast corner, right next to the service corridor.” She reports.

She can hear the frown in Blip’s voice inside her earpiece. _“It’s not marked on the schematic.”_

 _“I have eyes on it.”_ Duarte speaks, comm.

“Acknowledged.” She exhales, fluffs her hair when one of the guests look at her peculiarly.

A blast of the cool evening air hits her when she steps out on to the open deck. It’s a beautiful clear night with stars visible and crescent moon. With the beautiful décor inside, and the lovely night outside, it makes for a romantic, poetic and dreamy setting – a perfect backdrop to meet Mike for the first time since he was back from the away games. If only the circumstances had been different.  

Duarte’s stationed himself around bar on the east corner. His cover is as a guard working for the private security agency contracted for the party’s security. She spots him in the taupe jacket with the security company’s logo, over black polo neck and jeans. She notices the company issued, bulky handheld transceiver that’s docked to his belt as used by all the security personnel for the party. He’s also wearing a two-way radio similar to hers but with wired version that’s supposed to be easily hidden under his jacket.

“Papi, your transceiver and mic are showing.” She whispers.

“ _Copy that_.” Duarte replies. She sees him adjusting the translucent wire connected to his ear so that it’s hidden and winks at her.  

Blip radios in. “ _Mike’s car was just taken by the valet to parking.”_

A familiar redhead catches Ginny’s eye. Rachel Patrick is sitting by the inside bar, chatting with Colin Cowherd and another guy she knows from TV.

 _“I’ve got eyes on him.”_ Duarte replies after about ten minutes. “ _Baker, he’s at your six.”_

Ginny hears his warm, throaty chuckle before she sees him. She whips her head around seeking him out, her heart jabbering inside like a little hummingbird living under her breastbone.

Several guests throng around him, audibly vocal about their congratulations on the _Padres_ great performance and barraging him with questions on the trade at the same time. Ginny feels a strange sense of awe seeing him like that. Smiling and laughing, preening under all the attention – eyes twinkling with a lightness of spirit that she knows didn’t in his eyes exist a while back.

Not long ago at a party not unlike this, she’d wondered which was the act. Now, she knows that it’s neither. He’s everything - gentle, sensitive, and pensive inside, gregarious and brash outside – all parts of him that she loves.  

Foolish thoughts enter her mind.  All of them, involve some degree of steering him away, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him senseless. Like how she’d love to drag him off into one of the swanky leather loveseats in the corners in the enclosed seating and kiss him in the soft glow of candlelight, or pull him to the far end of the rooftop deck and kiss him under the gorgeous nightsky, or maybe sneak off with him into the park – kiss him under the floodlights at homeplate.  

She shakes it off when Blip’s voice buzzes in her ear, checking in on her. “ _Status report?”_

“All good.” She responds.

Interestingly every time she glances towards Rachel Patrick she finds the other woman staring in Mike’s direction with an unusual look on her face. It unsettles Ginny. It doesn’t seem like the kind of expression for a woman who’s out of love with her ex-husband to be carrying around. For some reason, it brings the memory of Mom-and-Kevin back.

Gathering her wits, Ginny beelines around Mike, avoiding him deliberately so that she can do a quick recon and relay of the exposed sections of the rooftop. She makes an effort to look unobtrusive when she whispers reports across the comm, _trying_ to do her job inconspicuously.

Still – for some reason a lot of heads turn her way.

“People are staring at me.” She whispers, trotting towards Duarte’s direction once she’s finished with the deck.

 _“Anyone you know?”_ Blip’s voice is terse.

“Negative.” Ginny squirms, feeling alarmed. “Any sign of the Penguin?”

“ _Negative – but the CFO and GM of the_ Padres _have arrived. So, she should be here soon.”_

Duarte is lingering by the shadowed end of the bar that gives him complete coverage, and yet it’s a great vantage point between the overlooked exit and the dais where a band is playing soft music.

Ginny fidgets awkwardly, cutting across the guests, noticing that a lot of curious glances are being thrown at her. She checks her dress several times until she’s satisfied that nothing’s off.

“Am I obvious, Papi?” She hisses just as she comes up to his side.

“Relax, Mami.” Livan mumbles to her. She does not look at him maintaining a façade of ignorance.

“People are staring, Duarte!” She hisses, feeling panic gain momentum. She hides everything under the big smile she offers the bar-waitress and asks for a grape soda.

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” He turns his head to her, just as the waitress leaves. Ginny glances at him to find that his eyes are appreciative.

“I don’t think it’s that.” She says, tossing her head around. She doesn’t spot Mike anymore and wonders where he is.

Livan clucks his tongue, lifts the cuff of his jacket to his mouth and speaks in to the microphone. “Sanders, it’s nothing. Everyone is just showing their appreciation. Mami’s not used to it.”

Ginny glances back at the people she spotted looking her way wondering if he has a point. A lot of the attention givers are predominantly male.

 _“Are you sure?”_ Blip responds.

“Affirmative.” Livan confirms.

“Not really.” Ginny blurts into her mic at the same time as Livan.

She gives him a look, he returns it with that cutie-pie dimpled smile that has all the ladies on the force wanting to throw their panties at him.

“Sorry,” Ginny grimaces, trying to relax. “I guess I’m not used to being a privileged guest at these things.”

“Breathe, Mami.” Livan says, emphatically. “You look like the morning sky – just after sunrise. Anyone who doesn’t notice you is probably blind or a fool.”

“I cannot believe I’m saying this...” Mike’s gruff drawl booms behind her. “But _Papi_ is right.”

If her heart hadn’t leapt, she’d have caught the way he spat the word ‘Papi’. She almost laughs loud at the cartoonish look on his face. The top half of his face above his eyes are pulled in a scowl and the part below the beard looks like it’s puckered in an amused smile.

His eyes though – they’re entirely focused on her with this warmth and affection that fills Ginny with tranquillity.

Livan nods at Mike, curtly. “Lawson’s here.” He mumbles into his speaker.

“ _Copy that_.” Blip chimes in her ear.

“Detective.” Mike murmurs, nodding at Duarte. When his eyes shift to her, scanning her shift, she promptly wonders if the term ‘eye-fucking’ needs to be redefined. Ginny can’t help returning a seductive smile.

“Officer Baker.” Mike rolls his jaw, his eyes are drawn to the small horizontal slit in her dress showing off a sliver of her belly.

“I’m headed to the south deck. Baker’s in position at the outside bar near the east service entrance.”  Duarte says quickly and pushes away. Ginny hears his voice through her comm simultaneously.

“ _Copy_. _And,_ _Baker – do not get distracted…_ ” Blip’s warning echoes in her ear – almost as though he’s got a premonition of what’s going to happen next.

Mike steps closer and Ginny steps back, her lips curling up in a smile. He crowds her against the bevelled edge of the bar table but keeps a distance between their bodies, trapping her with just his presence. Ginny can still see everything beyond his shoulder without having to strain.  

 _“Too late, hermano.”_ Duarte sings.

Mike places his palm on the crown of her head, tentatively patting her curls and runs his fingers through them. He regards her face with a peculiar look.

 _“This is neither the time nor the place, Baker.”_ Blip warns.

“I’m…working.” She shrugs, looking up at Mike.

“Yeah.” He nods, pushing his forehead against hers, stroking her hair gently.

“We need to - _not_ do this.” She pleads, but her chin tilts forward anyway.

“Yeah.” He nods, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before he flutters them open, tilting his head.

Ginny really – _really_ wants to kiss him. She catches her breath and looks up at him, her nose rubbing along the side of his, lips inches apart from his. Those eyes appear as an azure-grey with flecks of gold.

 _“Baker, do you copy?”_ Thunders in her ear, startling her.

Ginny grits her teeth.

 _“Baker! Do. You. Copy?”_ His roar in the ear piece is so loud, that even Mike hears it.  He inches his head back, eyes twinkling with amusement, the irises returning to that natural hazel colour.  

Ginny rolls her eyes, immediately fingering the discreet bump on the round neckline of her dress. “Yes, Blip!” She whispers back, angrily. “I copy!”

Mike looks curious when he taps his finger, right over the same spot, seconds after she releases the mic. She feels the soft click of the PTT button being pressed.

“Cockblocker.” Mike mutters loud.

She hears Blip’s amused chuckle in hear earpiece _. “Tell him that’s…”_

“…payback for what you did to him that one time in San Antonio.” She repeats Blip’s words with a smile. 

Mike grins wide like he’s understood, drops his hand, and leans against the bar, signalling for a drink.

“You look beautiful – and different.” Mike scans her face with affection. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Different good?” She asks, resisting the urge to twirl under his gaze.

“Definitely good.” Mike smiles. “More – I dunno – more you.” He scans her length.  “Gotta admit.” He sighs. “You were right. It might not have been a good idea if I picked you up.” He says. “I don’t think, I’d be able to keep my hands off you and I seriously doubt we’d make it here – at all.”

Ginny blushes. He looks around at the party and then back at her quizzically.

“She’s not here yet.” Ginny mumbles.

He nods at her before turning his attention to the waitress handing him his beer

“Blip, status on the Port?” She whispers into the mic, once the waitress moves away.

 _“No information, so far_.”

When she glances at Mike he’s watching her. “How’s it going?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” Ginny chews the corner of her lip.

“You know I really – appreciate that dress.” He murmurs, ogling at her boobs and the slit over her belly.

“Thanks, Old Man.” She murmurs. She pats his jacket, brushing off flecks of lint. “You clean up nice too.”

“You know what I’ll appreciate more though?”

“What?” She asks, distractedly looking around.

“Getting you out of it.” He says.

Ginny tilts her head at him, pursing her mouth - finds that naughty smirk on his face. She bursts into a hushed laugh covering her mouth, shaking her head.

Mike’s grin widens.

“Yo! Lawson!”

Mike straightens up and turns around. “Uh! Hey guys!”

His heavy hand encircles her waist and Ginny’s drawn into his side. Before she can catch her breath at the sudden feeling spiking through her body, she’s swarmed by a whole bunch of familiar faces. Players from the San Diego _Padres._ And _,_ she’s being introduced to each one as his girlfriend.

“Hey! We met in the elevator!” Salvamini reaches over and grabs her into a bear hug before her letting her slip back towards Mike. “Didn’t you guys come together?”

“Uh – no.” Ginny smiles. “I came from work.”

“What do you do that has you working on a Sunday?”

“I’m…” She squeaks. “I uh –” She gives Mike an uncertain grimace, slipping her palm on his back. He winks at her.

“She works for the city.” Mike covers.

“Oh cool! My girl used to work at the City Hall!” One of the other player’s pipes up. “What department?”

“Er – emergency services.” Ginny hedges. “It’s – not really that glamorous.”

“I’d say it’s a little glamorous.” Mike hugs her to his side, regarding at her with what she can only describe as pride.

“Hey! Ginny!” Evers claps her shoulder gently. “Help us with something.”

“Sure.”

“We’re running a betting pool that says _you_ are lady luck in disguise.”

“What?” Ginny half-laughs, half-snorts.

“Yeah, Lawson’s been really showin’ off these past couple of weeks.” Salvamini says. “Everyone’s sayin’ it’s ‘cause he wants to be traded but we don’t believe that. He’s not going anywhere! Sonny and I – we’ve got our money on you having something to do with it.”

“Me?”

“Showing off?” Mike grunts sarcastically, before Ginny can prod. “It’s called hard work, mooks! Someone’s gotta do it. Lord knows you lazy losers aren’t gonna!”

“Man, that’s bullshit.” Evers protests. “C’mon Ginny! Put us out of our misery. My bet is that Mike met you, some six odd weeks ago – that’s when his game got seriously better.”

“ _Pffth_! Hard work, discipline, focus…” He frowns and looks at her playfully. “…what was the other thing you said, babe?”

“Endurance?” Ginny winces.

“Yeah, endurance! That’s why my game’s better, assholes. How about you learn some of that instead of betting on my love life –” He looks at them individually, nodding meaningfully. “And I better see a commission from whoever had money on eight weeks!”

The guys hoot and cheer. Ginny laughs. Salvamini is in uproar on having won the pool. Mike literally goes pink and scowls at the same time – and it’s the cutest thing.

She delights in the sight of Mike squirming under all their good-natured ribbing and teasing. She toots and hollers at some of the jokes made at Mike’s expense, just to earn those good-natured dirty looks from him and the occasional stealthy chastising pinch on her bum. She completely forgets why she’s here and what’s she supposed to be doing.

And then Blip’s voice suddenly stereos inside her head. _“Baker, Duarte…”_ Ginny flinches against Mike and cups her ear when a high-frequency screech almost ruptures her eardrum.

“You okay, Ginny?” Voorhies asks her, noticing her actions.

 _“Shit! Sorry!”_ Blip’s voice follows. _“That was a glitch. Status report?”_

“ _Baker’s engaged_.” Duarte promptly responds, the sound bouncing around in her sore ear. _“All good. No suspicious activity. Go easy on the bat whistle, Sanders!”_

“She’s fine Dusty!” Mike announces simultaneously, his voice filling her other ear. He tightens his grip around her waist reassuringly, like he’s sensed what’s going on. “What do you expect when you’re yelling in her ear like that? Scram already –!” Mike silences his friends. “I’m trying to get some QT with my girl here.” He waves them off and they start to disperse one by one, throwing in a couple of more wisecracks.

She smiles back at every single one of them – feeling dazed. On one hand, she’s still trying to shake off the aftereffects of that migraine-inducing sound and on the other hand, it overwhelms her at how happy Mike’s teammates are for him, how unassumingly accepting they are of her.

“Hey, don’t have too much fun!” Sonny warns. “We wanna make a good impression on the new boss tonight so that they don’t trade your crummy old ass away.”  He gives Ginny a kiss on the cheek. “It was great to meet you, Ginny.”

“You too, Sonny.” She says.

“Everything alright?” Mike asks, once they’re gone.

“Yeah, let’s take a walk.” She sighs, straightening up. Mike follows suit. She does a run through of the surroundings, nods at Duarte when they cross paths while she circles around the west deck. He nods back and then disappears around the corner.

“Blip.” She speaks into her comm. “What’s taking so long? Why isn’t she here yet? And what’s happening on at the Port.”

_“No idea. Hang in there.”_

She rolls her shoulders and exhales loudly. She looks at Mike and finds him looking at her expressionlessly.

“They’re great.” She smiles, nodding in the direction of his teammates who are laughing and playing with each other, most of them occupying the lounge seats in the enclosed section.

“They’re a bunch of brats!” Mike mutters. “Sloppy, unmotivated, moody little shits.” He sighs. “But they’re my favourite moody little shits.”

“You’re my favourite moody little shit.” Ginny teases.

“Careful –” He narrows one eye at her. “I’ve already got half a mind to cart you off to the Clubhouse and ravish you against my cubby.”

“I’ll kick you in the balls.” She protests, playful.

“See – there you go, turning me on again.” He mumbles, pulling her against him. “Don’t you get bathroom breaks on this sting thing? We could be in and out in ten.”

“Ten minutes?” Ginny taunts. “That’s all you got? Looks like you’ll be needing medication soon Old Man?”

Mike narrows his eyes at her and lowers his palm to squeeze her ass again. Ginny swats it shyly and directs them to the side of the deck that overlooks the field.

“I’m in position on field face.” She informs Blip.

“ _Copy. Noelle just radioed in, Gleason has left her office, they’re tailing her car. Looks like she’s driving here.”_

“ _Copy that_.” Livan acknowledges.

Ginny doesn’t respond. She exhales restlessly, the apprehension building inside her.

“This is weird.” Mike mutters beside her.

“What is?”

“Being the romantic interest in this – weird ass Bond-esque role play?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know – the one where you’re the sexy secret agent and I’m the hot as fuck Bond-girl on your arm – except I’m a dude.”

Ginny screws her face at that.

“Eye candy? Sidekick?” He offers, looking mischievously shy. “I’m thinking more teammate…?”

She sputters with laughter. “You are not a good teammate.”

“Never said I was.” He grins, looking relieved – like he was trying to get her to relax and it worked.

“I don’t see Al.” She says, leaning into Mike, feeling a lot calmer.

“He caught a cold.” Mike says, pressing a scruffy kiss against her temple. “And, I think he’s stressed out about the takeover.”

“He’s not the only one, is he?” Ginny sympathizes, patting Mike’s chest.

“The Cubs are interested in me.” He says, looking at his drink. “Red Sox, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…” He groans, smoothing his beard.

“The _Padres_ are still in it.” She points out. “You’re only, what? Seven games back in the Wild Card?”

“I’ve stayed with the team even when we played like shit, Baker – you know that’s not why I’m considering this.”

She slips her arm into Mike’s elbow and does a furtive scan of the crowd, using his body as a buffer. “I really am, sorry, Old Man.” She says. “I can’t imagine how tough this must be for you. How do you think the team will take it?”

He groans. “They’ll think I’m a traitor.”

She rubs his arm. He waves her sympathy off with a shoulder shrug and a sad smile.

A server comes with some canapes and Ginny’s stomach lurches with joy. “Ooh! Food!”  

Ginny stuffs one into her mouth and reaches for another three which she stores in a tissue. “Oh, thank you, _god!_ ” She exclaims when she feels her stomach settle.

Mike snorts with amusement, reaches for one canape. He’s about send the server off, but when he notices the pointed glare she throws him, he takes two more and obediently keeps the other two in his tissue. He pushes it towards her submissively once the server leaves, like he’s afraid she’ll fight him for it.

Ginny winks – because it’s quite possible she will fight him.

He chuckles silently watching her fondly as she gobbles them down.  He opens his mouth, no doubt, about to makes some smart-ass comment. But, his face seizes, eyes focus at a point beyond her and his smile fades.

“Hi Rach.” He says, straightening up.

Ginny turns with her cheeks - literally puffed out - with food. 

 _Not_ the poised picture of dignity she wanted to present when meeting the ex-wife.

Rachel Patrick scrutinizes Ginny stuffed face amusedly. “Hey Mike!” She says. Her sweet voice cuts at Ginny’s insides. “Big day today?”

He doesn’t reply.

“I meant with the new ownership announcement?”

“Right.” He nods.

“I have insider info that Violet’s gifting a bonus amounts to all the players as part of her acquisition initiative.”

“Too bad you won’t be entitled to half of that anymore.” He remarks wryly.

The jibe doesn’t affect Rachel. She rolls her eyes and turns her attention to Ginny. She extends her hand to Ginny and then frowns, peering at her face closely.  “Hi! Have we met before?”

Ginny stares at her dumbfounded, still muzzled by the volume of cud in her mouth.

“Er…” Mike makes a funny noise. “Rach, this is my girlfriend.  Ginny, this is my ex-wife.”

“Girlfriend? Wow!” Rachel says. “Already?”

Mike snaps his head up – shooting daggers at her. “I’m sorry?”

“I meant – ” Rachel looks a little confused at Mike’s reaction at first, and her face breaks into a patronizing smile. “That’s nice.”

Ginny feels like she’s trapped in a whole new micro-universe of judgement and resentment. She snaps to her senses, swallows down the food in her mouth in one painful gulp. “H-Hi!” Ginny squeaks, fretfully wiping her hands on the tissue.

A server comes by with another set of hors d’oeuvres. Ginny looks to it as an opportunity for a distraction and reaches for it.

Mike’s hand snaps forward, stopping her by the wrist. Ginny jerks her head at him frowning. He hasn’t moved his face; he’s transfixed on Rachel. She looks at Rachel – and Rachel looks peculiarly intrigued. Ginny looks at the server and the poor girl is alternating her head between husband and wife.

_Ex-husband and ex-wife._

“I’m sure she’s old enough to get her own food, Mike.” Rachel remarks, giving that condescending smile. The way she speaks reminds Ginny of - Violet Gleason. Of people who cut with silk, criticize without seeming offensive.

“Cilantro.” Mike bites out.

Ginny shakes her head, confused because it sounds like he’s speaking to her but his eyes are fixed on Rachel’s face.

Rachel frowns. “I’m sorry?” She asks.

Mike gently pushes Ginny’s hand down, doesn’t even glance at her. “That one has cilantro.” He repeats in a softer tone, pointing to the appetizers.

Ginny glances at the food, finds the third most offensive thing on this planet after Violet Gleason and Mike’s condescending ex-wife, sitting right on top of a mini pile of corn.

And Mike’s still glaring at his ex-wife as though she deliberately put it there.

He turns his head at the server and his face changes instantly. He abruptly flashes a dazzling smile. The one that made teenage Ginny’s heart dance and her knees quiver.

“She doesn’t eat cilantro…” Mike says, charmingly. “Can you get her some of those canape thingies? The one with the shrimp?”

Sure enough, the server goes all blushy and giggly and ‘Sure thing Mr. Lawson’ and takes off.

He doesn’t release her hand. Ginny watches it disappear into his palm. She gawks at their joined hands like it’s happening to someone else. His fingers automatically interweave with her at first, then he toys with it, raking his thumb over the baseball calluses.

She looks up at his face and finds that he’s staring at Rachel with a softer expression, and when she looks at Rachel, she finds the redhead carrying an inexplicable hurt on her face.

 _“All units come in._ ” Blip’s voice crackles in Ginny’s ear. “ _Penguin’s car has arrived. Baker, take cover.”_

 _“Copy that.”_ Duarte responds. _“Mami, you need some help out there?”_

Ginny whips her head up and finds Livan in the distant corner, watching her. She shakes her head and glances back at Mike. He’s still glaring at Rachel but,  “Everything aright, Baker?” He asks, quietly.

She pulls her hand out of Mike’s grasp and shoves her hair back. “Yes.” She says. “I uh… _errm_ …!” Ginny takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and puffs out a calming breath. “Um – I need to go to the ladies room.” She looks at Mike and Rachel meaningfully. “And – maybe that should give you guys some space to talk?”

Mike jerks his head to face her and opens his mouth like he wants to explain.

“No, I didn’t mean to…” Rachel starts

She flashes a palm to silence them both. Rachel looks uncomfortable and a shadow of guilt mixed with remorse crosses Mike’s face.

Ginny walks out from between them, refusing to glance back at Mike.

 _You’re on the job. On the job._ She tells herself. _Don’t get distracted._

She circles behind the pillar that separates the deck from the enclosure. She finds one of the three locations she’d identified earlier. She sneaks behind the curtain, seeing that the coast is clear. Ginny isn’t entirely certain if the ulterior reason for choosing _that_ spot has nothing to do with the fact that it places in her direct aural range of Mike and Rachel as well, allowing her to hear every exchange with crystal clarity. 

“…young and pretty.” Ginny hears the end of Rachel’s remark as soon as she takes up her spot.

Mike doesn’t respond, but Ginny can almost imagine him making a sarcastic noise.

“I’m in position.” Ginny whispers into the comm.

“ _Copy_.” Blip replies. _“All units. Stand by.”_

“What?” Mike snaps, as though Rachel has been silently communicating something. Ginny wishes she could cross back and look at their faces.

“It’s just…” Rachel says. “She doesn’t seem like your type.”

“You were my type – and how did that turn out?” The acid in his voice, makes Ginny cringe.

“Mike…” Rachel voice takes pacific tone. “I’m not here to fight.”

Mike’s groan is loud enough to reach Ginny.

“I’ve heard rumours –” Rachel says, tentatively. “That you’re moving to the Cubs.”

“Well…” Mike sounds like he’s ready to retreat. “ _That_ is news to me as well.”

“It’s no secret that you waived the no-trade clause. And you always swore that you’d never leave the Padres given a choice. Violet is not interested in trading you – so what is that about, really?”

Mike doesn’t reply.

“Come on, Mike.” Rachel snickers. “You know you can’t hide things, not from me.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” He returns. “I’m not as good at that as you are.”

“Well, you don’t seem to be having much trouble about it.” Rachel pokes. “You moved on pretty quick.”

Mike makes a low snarling sound. “And, exactly how long did _you_ wait until we had broken up before you moved on?” He growls.

Livan’s words almost drown out the offended gasp Rachel lets out. _“I can see her from here. She’s coming up the stairs.”_

Ginny turns her body, leaning it against the pillar and peeks beyond the curtain towards the entrance, her attention half-diverted from the eavesdropping. “Copy that.” She whispers in anticipation. “Standing by.”

“No, Rachel wait! I’m – I’m sorry!” She hears Mike plead just after the comms go silent. “Stay! I didn’t mean to be…”

Ginny closes her eyes, forcing disappointment away and trying to refocus her attention on her job.

“What Mike…?” Rachel sounds irritated. Ginny hears the tremor in her voice. “I’ve apologized over and over. And, I know there’s nothing I can do to fix what happened, but I am not going to stand here and take this from you.”

“Look, I’m done.” He sounds resigned. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

Violet Gleason steps through the threshold, flanked by Marzano.

“I have eyes on her.” Ginny whispers into her comm.

“ _Same_.” Livan echoes back.

“I’m sorry too.” Rachel replies, after a while. She sounds like she’s genuinely apologetic. “I’m not being fair to you. I _am_ happy for you. It’s good you’re getting back out there.”

 “She looks happy, Blip.” Ginny whispers, noting the big smile on Violet’s face when she greet Araguella – it almost makes her human on some level. “That’s not her fake smile. I can tell. I don’t think she suspects anything.” Ginny adds.

“ _Copy. We’re getting an update from the Port. Hold your positions._ ” Noelle joins the comm feed.

Ginny and Livan copy at once.

“Does she know?” Ginny hears Rachel ask.

“Know what?”

“That you’re leaving.”

When Mike doesn’t reply, Rachel speaks again. “I’m just concerned. I’ve been observing you two before I came over. She looks like she’s falling for you.”

“She does?” Mike’s voice changes into a surprise, hopeful one.

Rachel’s amused laugh floats to her. “Don’t tell me you’re blind to it. But that’s not the point. You know how you can be, Mike. You think you know what you want and then you chase after it…but once you have it – you don’t really take the effort to keep it.”

Ginny rolls her eyes.

“Sometimes, I think you’re right about me.” Ginny hears Mike say, after a long silence. “You were always smarter than me, Rachel.”

Ginny clenches her teeth and struggles to regulate her breathing.

“You were more than a wife, y’know – you were my best friend.” Mike continues. “That’s why I don’t wanna fight any more. I want us to still have that. I just want you to be happy, Rach. For real. And if David makes you happy...then…”

“We broke up.” Rachel blurts.

Ginny sighs.

Mike speaks, after what seems like a surprised silence on his end. “Did I screw things up for you? By comin’ over that night?

“No,” Rachel sounds sad. “You didn’t screw things. I guess I had to face the fact that I really, really liked him – I just didn’t love him.”

“I’m sorry.” Mike speaks so softly, Ginny has to strain to hear him.

Rachel says something inaudible that might be a: “Thanks.”

“For lyin’ about being sorry.” Mike adds, with a hint of dry humour.

Ginny doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation.

“She’s mingling.” Ginny whispers, observing Violet being introduced by Araguella to top officials on the Padres management.  “She’s headed over to your end, Livan.” Ginny whispers, feeling her throat tighten.

_“Copy that. You okay, Mami?”_

“Yeah I’m good.”

 _“Baker, you better be out of sight.”_ Blip checks.

“Yes. I am.” She replies.

 _“Sanders,”_ Livan’s voice crackles. “ _She’s having a conversation at the corner on the north deck, it faces outside the Park. She should be in visual range for you.”_

 _“Copy that – I see her.”_ Blip says. _“Who is she with?”_

_“Araguella, Marzano and I think -  that’s the CFO of the Padres.”_

“Mike…” Rachel says. Ginny hears a pained sigh. “I’m – staying at the Omni. 1740.” She sounds hesitant. “It doesn’t have to be anything. We can – just talk.”

He doesn’t reject her immediately, Ginny notes.

Ginny’s mouth shivers. She presses her lips together. She’s terrified of listening to the rest of this. She peeks around the curtain to check for another vantage point where she can survey Violet. But realizes that the location that Violet is in, doesn’t allow for Ginny to spy on her undetected. She thinks of moving to the other pillars where she can hide but there are too many guests in her vicinity who would see her slip out.

Frustrated, she pulls back and leans against the pillar – reconciling the fact that she’s stuck in her position, bracing herself for the heartache that comes next.

Mike lets out a loud sigh after a long silence. “I’m not going to come Rachel.”

Ginny turns her head towards them.

“That’s okay, Mike.” Rachel seems unoffended. “I was just…”

“No, I mean – I’m _never_ going to come.”

Ginny frowns.

“Like I said, you were always smarter than me, and, I guess you were right about me.” Mike says. “I do love chasing. Always did. My whole life’s been about that. Chasing things and getting them to stay. Chasing a baseball, chasing after my dog, chasing the big leagues, chasing after victories, chasing after money, cars - women and chasing you. Tried my best to hold on to all of them and until they wore me down.”

He breaks off for a long sigh. “You know how it was with my mom. She was a chaser, too – always another job, another town, another guy, another hustle – another easy way out. Maybe it’s something I picked up from her.” He continues.

“Mike…” Rachel sounds sympathetic.

 “I’m not saying this because I’m angry with you.” Mike says. “Lord knows – it still hurts when I think of you but that’s just my pride. I have forgiven you.”

“Mike…”

“I’ve lived with this – sort of - empty hole - all my life. I don’t know if it was always there or if it was created or if I’m imagining it. I don’t know if it’s because of my Dad. I mean...” He scoffs. “My whole existence is just a proof of a mistake that he didn’t want to admit to his family – his real family. That doesn’t leave a kid with a sense of much completeness, y’know what I mean?”

That - is something Ginny did not expect to hear. And, from Rachel’s silence it appears that even if she knew this detail, she didn’t much expect Mike to mention it, either.

“All I know is I’ve been living with this hole and it's like you say – I love chasing. I love chasing, because I’ve been chasing after things to fill this hole.”

“Mike.” Rachel’s voice is filled with sympathy.

“Let me finish.” He silences her. “Everything I’ve tried to fill it with – has never been enough. So – you’re right when you say I don’t like having. But, you’re wrong as well. It’s not that I don’t _like_ having, it’s just that I haven’t had the right thing – the right person.” He pauses. “Until now.”

 _“Status report?”_ The comm crackles.

Ginny doesn’t register what’s being said on that front. She refuses to acknowledge the voice of her conscience that sounds remarkably like Blip reprimanding her for getting distracted from her duty. Her attention is solely focussed on eavesdropping on a private conversation between Mike and his ex, like the petty, jealous girlfriend that she very much is.

 _“They’re preparing the dais for something.”_ She hears Livan’s voice somewhere in her fuzzy head.

“And it’s not you, Rach.” Mike says, after an emphatic pause. There is a finality in his voice.

“You think it’s her?” Rachel’s voice is filled with incredulity. “What’shername – Ginny?”

“That look you’re giving me – like, you think I don’t want to take up your offer for tonight because I think you’re easily available. Like I’m only going to come after you when I’m bored with Ginny, or if I hear you’re with someone else – or that I’ll screw things up with her like I did with you. That I’m confused about what I feel...that’s it.”

“It’s what?” Rachel sound alarmed.

“It’s you thinking that you know me.”

“I do know you, Mike. This is what you do. It’s because I’ve known you longer!”

“And Ginny knows me better!” Mike raises his voice.

Rachel’s gasp matches Ginny’s astonishment

“And she _sees_ me, Rachel.” Mike defends. “In a way you never did.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That means, I’d like to be friends with you. But that’s it. And I’m sorry things didn’t work out between David and you, but I’m sure you’ll find your person eventually. I want you to find someone who makes you happy, Rach. You deserve it. I hope you get whatever you want in life. I mean that with all my heart. But - it’s not me. I’m just saying that - I _think_ – I’ve found mine.”

Rachel doesn’t speak.

When Rachel doesn’t reply, he says, “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You just met this girl, right? We were together five years before we got married, Mike – and…”

“And still you were unhappy. So unhappy – you looked for happiness elsewhere.”

“What I understand…” Rachel bites out. “…is that you’re still hurting. That you’ve reached out to an infatuation and you’re trying to convince yourself it’s more – like you always do. It sounds you’re acting out against what happened with us.”

He makes a mocking noise.

“I am happy for you, Mike.” Rachel insists. “Trust me, I am. I’m happy that you have found someone you like! I get it – the sex must feel great – like a new connection, better than what we had I’m sure, that doesn’t make her a soulmate–”

“Why? Because she’s not you?”

“No, it’s not that…”

Mike laughs bitterly. “Thing is, I may not be it for her. She – she’s amazing. Way outta my league. And one day she’s going to wake up and realize that she can do a lot better than me. Which oddly enough – I’m okay with. I want to be with her, as long as she will have me.”

 _“Baker, Duarte. Warrant’s through.”_ Blip sounds urgent. _“Duarte, can you stall Violet?”_

 _“Si.”_ Livan speaks.

 _“Baker, pull out.”_ Blip says. _“Better get your boyfriend out of there, while you’re at it. We’re on our way.”_

That gets Ginny’s head back where it’s supposed to be. Ginny pushes out of her location and walks determinedly back around the same way and heads straight to Mike.

“What did they find, Blip?” Ginny whispers.

_“Bellamy said they found sixteen young women – shackled in the cages. We did it, Ginny.”_

“We ain’t done nothing yet.” Ginny replies.

“I’m not jealous Mike.” Rachel’s voice takes a shrill turn, it carries all the way to her when Ginny marches up to them. She can see some of the other guests looking in their direction.

“Never said you were.” He shrugs.

“I’m just concerned about you – and I don’t want you dragging down some young groupie with you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but Baker’s not a groupie.”

“Mike,” Rachel’s voice is louder. “You barely know her-!”

“Hey!” Ginny calls out to them. “Lawson!”

When Rachel’s head snaps in her direction, Ginny sees that her skin is flushed in a shade of scarlet that matches her hair - embarrassed at being overheard.

Ginny doesn’t have the time to rejoice at petty victories, gloat or fuck around. She cuts in the space between Rachel and Mike. “What’s wrong?” Mike says, discomfort flashing on his face.

Ginny pushes him away from his ex-wife. “I need you to leave.” She whispers. He walks backwards passively and then slows down to a stop, clasping her arms.

“Ginny…they’ll be -”

She forces him around so his back is facing Rachel and his body provides cover for her. “And you should take her –” she nods in Rachel’s direction, “and your teammates with you.”

She spots Livan sneaking around the sound system, pulling out some wires when the DJ is looking away. She doesn’t see Violet anywhere.

The hair on the back of her neck stands up.

“Old Man.” Ginny says calmly, slipping her fingers, through his beard, scratching her finger pads against the soft skin beneath. “You really, really need to go. I’m here to do a job.” She drops her voice, pulling his face close to hers and looking into his eyes. “Which means I _need_ to be able to think.”

His eyes are filled with worry, irises turning into a peculiar shade of green.

“And I cannot _think_ – as long as you are here.” She whispers, urgently. “Because I will _only_ be thinking about you. So, you need to go now, you hear?”

He catches hand as soon as she makes to drop it from his face “Baker…” He murmurs. He rubs his thumb along both the pitching calluses on her fingers and the gun-handle calluses on the heel of her palm looking at her with a strange sort of love that tugs at her heart.

Ginny leans forward and presses her mouth on his lips, earnestly.  “I know, Lawson.” She whispers. “Me too.”

“Hey, Mike!” They hear Araguella’s voice. She peeks over his shoulder, finds Rachel turning away and – _fuck!_

Violet and Araguella are about ten feet away, walking towards and Mike.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She mutters, turning her head away, towards the field.

Mike catches her shoulders and nods at her. “Go.” He mutters.

“Mike…!”

“I’ll be fine – you do what you have to do.” He nods.

Ginny twists her mouth, debating it over and then nods because she’s out of time. She spins on her heels and walks away, just as Violet and Araguella stop to talk to Rachel. She doesn’t dare look back for fear that Violet will see her.

And, she prays.

“We’ve got a problem.” Ginny mutters, tapping on her mic and marching off towards the entrance she came from. She does a double take when she sees who steps over the threshold. “Fuck, now, we’ve got a bigger problem!” She hisses and ducks away behind some guests.

“ _Report_.”

“Sequeira and Vinnie Junior are here!”

_“What? Where’d they come from?”_

“I don’t know!” She whispers, looking in Mike’s direction. Violet, Araguella, Rachel and him are in conversation. Mike keeps glancing around, like he’s searching for her.

“They look pissed as hell.” She adds, when she sees Sequeira and Vinnie head towards Violet.

She hears Blip’s frantic radio to dispatch for backup.

“Duarte, what’s your twenty?” She checks.

She watches Blip emerge with Noelle and two uniforms. Noelle walks up to the chief of the security guards and whispers something to him. He nods and radios instructions on their walkie-talkies. Ginny observes the security personnel discretely rallying the guests.

“Papi, come in?” Ginny taps the mic.

Ginny rushes to Blip, points to the open deck where Violet, and Vinnie junior are huddled at a distance from Araguella, Mike and Rachel.

Sequeira is nowhere in view.

“Duarte?” Ginny tries again. “Livan!”

“Duarte?” Blip hisses on his radio.

There’s no response.

“I’ll find him.” Ginny jumps. “He was by the sound system.”

“Stop.” Blip catcher her arm. “Maybe his wire came off and he can’t hear – I’ll find him.”

“He’s my partner!”

“We’re redirecting all civilians to the terrace level. Saying it’s a fire alarm – just go down, back up Noelle...FBI and tacticals are on their way.”

“But Blip!”

“I got this, Ginny!” He glares at her.

She sighs and points to the service door that cuts across in the direction of the dais. Sanders nods at her and walks off, directing the uniforms to stay still. He throws her a warning glance before he leaves.

As people crowd around her, trying to follow the guards’ directions to exit the lounge, they provide her with an inadvertent cover. Ginny takes liberty to glance back at the deck and finds Vinnie gone.

Violet is by Araguella's side, he’s looking curiously in the direction of the bustle among the guests. Mike seems like he’s trying to tug Rachel towards the enclosure, but she seems reluctant – like, she’s more interested in conversing with Violet.

To any person, Violet’s face would appear apathetic, mildly intrigued at best.

Ginny knows the woman is freaking out.

“Baker!” Noelle urges her.

Ginny turns around, every instinct inside her raging with alarm.

She catches hold of a guard and orders him to fetch Mike, Rachel and Araguella. When she glances back in their direction they’re gone.

All of them.

“Sanders.” Ginny taps on her mic. “Status.”

 _“Can’t find him."_ Blip's voice is unsteady. _"His – radio is here.”_

“She’s gone.” Ginny says. “Her, Mike, Araguella and Rachel Patrick.”

_“What?”_

“I’m gonna check it out.”

_“No! Baker! Wait!”_

Ginny doesn’t.

 

She pulls out her phone, slaps her clutch in Noelle’s hand and jogs towards the decks, whips her head around and spots Araguella’s black suit disappearing through the southeast corner exit. Ginny follows them, sneaks down the stairs, ignoring Blip’s unhappy hissing and sputtering in her ear. She rounds off at the bottom, finds herself on an empty terrace deck. She pulls out her gun and opens the tracking application that should ping Livan’s phone and follows the green dot.

 _“Baker! Where the fuck are you?”_ Blip blares in her ear.

She doesn’t reply. She comes out the fire exit, starts walking down the stairs to the third level.

A violent scream sounds across.

_Rachel._

_No, no, no, no._

Ginny runs down the stairs, taking two at a time, tripping on her heels.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” She hears a man shouting, it’s not Mike.

_No, no, no._

Ginny hops down to the second level just as the flashing green dot on her app disappears. She tries to check it’s last location and finds Livan’s phone crushed to pieces in the corner. Ginny tries to open the exit – realizes it can’t be opened without an access pass.

Rachel’s screaming gets mixed with a lot of male voices, voices she recognizes as Araguella and Mike. Ginny points her gun to the magnetic lock of the fire exit.

 _“Baker! What’s going on! I heard shots!”_ Noelle screams into her ear.

Ginny bursts through the exit and runs in the direction of the screaming, bellowing her location on the radio – “…possible hostage situation! Need backup! Suspects are armed and dangerous, proceed with caution…”

And she skids to a halt realizing that she’s just stormed into her nightmare.

_She's staring Death in its formless face.  Pop stands right behind it. He's waiting on her._

Violet stands there, arms crossed, tapping her heel impatiently, her pointed nose wrinkled with disgust. She looks at Ginny like she’s been waiting for her.

Oscar Araguella is pushed to a corner, clutching an anguished whimpering Rachel. Rachel's pretty face is stained with tears and pale as chalk. A nervous Marzano fields them backwards – trying to push them away.

Livan is on his knees, on one side of Violet, with an ugly contusion on his face and a busted lip. His shooting arm looks limp – like something’s dislocated if not broken. His other arm is twisted behind his back by Sequeira, holding him in place like Livan is a featherweight.

And he has Livan’s service weapon pressed to Livan’s temple.

_She's staring Death in its formless face.  Pop stands right behind it. He's waiting on her._

And Mike is standing on the other side, of Violet – hands up – face deadpan but irises turning green like they do when he's nervous or anxious. Vincent junior is sneering at her, the barrel of his gun, inches away from Mike’s nose.

_She's staring Death in its formless face.  Pop stands right behind it. He's waiting on her._

“So, Officer Margie…” Violet spits.

Violet’s eyes are vacant, and formless. Her voice is cold and as unfeeling as her eyes. “It would appear that you have a choice to make.”

Ginny stands frozen, her weapon dropped to her side.

_She's staring Death in its formless face.  Pop stands right behind it. He's waiting on her._

_"Who am I...?" She asks them both._

_There is no answer._


	11. Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeessss. So the fic was supposed to be like max 5 chapters long.  
> Y'all have yourselves to blame. I was happy keeping the fic smut free and at 5 chapters.
> 
>  
> 
> [Imagery assist](http://mikeginsanity.tumblr.com/post/157783358802/shall-complete-margie-by-fat-tuesday)

_“Paint the corner.”_

_“I’m cooked, Pop.”_

_“Mom, says dinner.” Will calls._

_“And, I said paint the corner.” Pop asserts._

_“I can’t!”_

_“Yes, you can.”_

Rachel won’t stop screaming.

_“Baker, do you copy? What’s going on?”_

“You’re a cop?” Rachel shrieks. “Wh-why are you just standing there?”

_“Baker, come in…! What is your status…?...Baker, if you read me, listen up…”_

“Do something!”

_I can’t._

_There’s a gun on Mike. There’s a gun on Livan._

_Pop’s going to hit Will - again._

 

Had Ginny been able to think straight, she might have accessed her training from the crisis negotiation scenarios from the academy. She might have taken the first step. Taken charge – assured the safety of the victims, contained the situation, quelled the panic – created a sense of normality, gotten everyone to calm the fuck down.

She would have the empathy to understand and assuage Rachel’s justified terror, find a way to contain the tension.

But she couldn’t think.

_“Baker, if you can hear me, we’ve surrounded all the exits. SRT is on their way.”_

Instead, it’s Marzano that hushes Rachel, whispering warnings about how important it is for her to be quiet.

It’s Oscar Araguella that pulls her back mollifying her in his distinct, low-toned, soft but steady voice.

It’s Mike – that slowly turns his head towards her, cautiously wary of the gun in his face, even though Vincent doesn’t seem inclined to intimidate him. He gestures to Rachel with tentative signals, tries to calm her with inaudible murmurs.

But. She still won’t stop screaming.

“Do something!”  The fierce growl carrying under her screams sends shivers down Ginny’s spine.

_Paint the corner._

_I can’t._

And then, Violet lifts her forefinger and silences Rachel with just one terrifying look. Her face doesn’t change – at all. Ginny’s been at the receiving end of that dark expression in her eyes one too many times to know the subliminal command Violet holds on everyone. And with that one look, it’s like someone hit the mute button on Rachel Patrick. She’s reduced to a wreck of snivelling whimpers, collapsing in Araguella’s arms.

Mike looks very distressed for his ex-wife.

 

_“I can’t throw another strike.” She cries._

_Pop doesn’t accept it. “Yes, you can.”_

_“I can’t!” She pleads._

_Pop’s face changes – he’s lost his patience._

 

“You know, in an ideal world, Margie.” Violet says, in her usual unperturbed, melodic manner. “You and I would have all the time to have a little heart-to-heart about how impressed I am with you. It is not an easy feat to pull one over my eyes. I never expected you to be a cop – so I’ll have to hand you that.”

_I’m Ginny._

“I’m not…” She blurts.

“Not really Margie?” Violet completes. “I know. But to me, you’ll always be Margie.”

_“Willie,” Pop calls her brother. “C’mere! You wanna help me help your sister?_

_Will nods casually._

 

Violet sighs. “I calculate about eight minutes before the cavalry arrives. So –there’s no time for chit-chat. You are running out of time. It’s important you decide or else _I_ will have to make that choice for you.”

_Take stock, take stock…read the playing field…assess your situation._

They’re in a wide hallway with concrete surrounding them with no windows or vantage points for snipers to gain a line of sight. Blip is probably organizing the perimeter. Some of her colleagues would be trying to creep up on them, some would have rounded around to the other end. Maybe some would have seized the camera rooms, trying to access the CCTV, maybe Petco’s security staff would have been recruited to assist.

Ginny takes a deep breath and tries to think.

 _The police are at an advantage in this situation_ , she tells herself. This unplanned encounter in a territory that is as unfamiliar to Violet as it is to Ginny - that is exactly the sort of situation that Violet hates. She may seem calm but she’s panicking. Taking hostages is exactly the sort of reaction she would have.

Ginny lifts her arm and cups the handle of her gun with her other hand. The muzzle is aimed at Violet.

“Ah, it speaks.” Violet snickers. Ginny’s eyes flit around, looking for the cameras.

“It took a little effort to dig up information on Ginny Baker,” Violet continues to speak. “One time local sensation from Tarboro, North Carolina, college dropout. Groomed to be the first female pitcher in the major leagues.” Violet narrows her eyes. “But…never made it past a college team.” Violet smirks.

Ginny glances at Violet.

“The girl I see before me, here, is no barrier-breaker. She’s a confused nobody with her partner’s life in one hand and….” Violet glances at Rachel. “Your ex-husband’s life in the other.” Violet directs her gaze at Ginny. “I know what you’re thinking, dear. You think we’re stuck. You’re waiting on your friends to storm in, save the day. But, what you don’t know is that this isn’t my first rodeo. I _will_ get out – whatever it takes.”

Livan says something in Spanish. Sequeira punches his bad arm.

_“You wanna help me help your sister?” Pop asks Will._

_“Yeah.” Will answers_

_The slap is so loud, she trembles._

 

His cry rips through Ginny’s system. _Will!_

_Will’s face recoils._

_“Dad!” She cries to Pop._

_Will’s face crumples._

 

“The choice is not him...” Violet points to Livan, “or him,” she points to Mike. “The choice is them versus us.”

Ginny’s transfixed at her partner. He’s struggling not to collapse.

“Or,” Violet pushes, “you can try to shoot me, but you won’t shoot to kill because you want me alive.” She mocks her. “You want to prosecute me, make an example of me, feel vindicated for the months of humiliation I have put you through. So, there’s a good chance I’ll live. But they -” She points to Mike and Livan. “Will die.”

_“Throw. A strike.” Pop orders and squats._

 

“I assure you as mediocre as my Vincent is as at everything else, he’s a rather skilled gunman. They will die, _Margie_. And it will be on you. You’ll spend your entire life knowing that your pretty face was the last thing they saw. Something tells me, _Margie_ – that’s an unacceptable outcome for you.”

_“Throw. A strike.”_

 

“You won’t do shit!” Livan spits at Violet.

He gets slapped again.

_The slap is so loud, she trembles._ Ginny trembles.

_…Throw. A strike._

_…Dad!_

 

“And then there’s them…” Violet points to Araguella and Rachel. “Once your buddies outside, know we are serious as death, serious enough to kill a police officer and a valuable civilian – they are not going to try and risk another two lives. So – either way, we’re still getting out.”

_A slap on his cheek._

_Tears fill her brother’s eyes._

_“Dad!”_

_Throw. A strike_

 

“It’s like I said, my dear.” Violet shrugs. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

 _“Baker, you’re in a camera blindspot.”_ Blip whispers in her ear. _“We’re only able to see Mr. Araguella, Miss Patrick, Marzano and Mike. Can’t see you or Livan. Mike looks like there’s a gun aimed at him. Can you talk. Baker?”_

Her vision is blurry. Her earpiece is crackling with all sorts of chatter. Nothing make sense.

_“Throw.” Pop commands. “A strike.” …and he squats down, glove ready._

Ginny grabs her head.

 

“Baker, you don’t gotta do anything!” Livan shouts. “Look at me.”

_“Baker? Do you copy?”_

“Ginny!” Livan’s voice is so far away.

Ginny squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.  She opens her eyes and finds Livan’s. Dark brown orbs filled with varying degrees of pain, fear and determination.

“Shut up!” Sequeira slams his boot into Livan’s bad shoulder.

His face contorts with pain.

_“Throw, a strike.”_

_“Dad!”_

The thoughts are jumbled in her head.

_Pop don’t. Blip is here. He’s here._

Where is she? What is she doing?

_Pop. Don’t hit Will._

“Margie….” Violet calls in a sing-song voice. “Four lives versus one.”

_Please Pop. Don’t hit Will._

_I’ll throw..._

Her fingers tremble, reaching for the mic. “Sanders…” She whispers, with a shiver in her voice. “Do you copy?”

 _“Ginny! Thank god!”_ She hears a loud sigh. _“We copy.”_

“Stand down.”

_“Baker?”_

“I repeat, stand down.” She mutters.

Silence fills her ears for what seems like forever.

_“Officer Baker, this is Captain Everett from the Special Response Team. Keep pressing the PTT button on your mic for five seconds continuously – this will leave the mic on, do you read?”_

“C-copy.” Ginny manages.

_“The listening range on that thing is limited – but you are in a closed environment and it’s better than nothing. Try and move towards your left – it’ll give us a visual on you.”_

“C-copy.” Ginny stutters.

“Enough!” Violet shouts. Ginny waits for a second more until a small beep sounds inside her ear.

 _“We have audio.”_ Someone who isn’t Blip and isn’t Everett chirps in her ear.

Ginny drops her arm. “They’re backing off.” Ginny says. “Now, Please. Let them go.”

“That’s not how this works.” Sequeira snorts. He sneers. “How this works is, you are going to radio in to whoever is on the other side of that thing – and make sure he and everyone else stays put. They are going to arrange a safe passage for us out of here.”

“Baker, no!” Livan growls. “What do you think? You think they’re just going to let us go? They’re surrounded!”

Sequeira hits the back of his head with the handle of the gun. Livan yelps and falls to the ground, arm still suspended in Sequeira’s grip.

_“Throw. A strike.”_

_“But, I can’t.”_

_I can’t, Pop. Don’t you see? I’m malfunctioning._

 

“She really is stupider than she looks.” Tuyo starts snorting, he looks at Livan. “Since when did the SDPD start hiring adolescents? How long has she been on the force?”

“She really is quite inexperienced, isn’t she?” Violet agrees. “How long have you been a cop, Margie? I’d say you were a rookie at this.”

_...You’re not a girl scout leader, rookie!..._

Ginny blinks and looks at Mike.

Hazel eyes that change colour with the light.

The man in front of her is silent – his gaze weighing heavily on her.

The man inside her head is growling – his gaze burning a hole into her face.  

_“You’re a ball player.” Says the man inside her head._

 

“Baker, they’re fucked!” Livan cries. “They’re cornered from all ends – they won’t…” He yelps again when Sequeira smacks his ear.

 _“Baker, stay calm.”_ Blip bellows in her ear.

Her ear is sweating. Ginny scratches, fiddling with the earpiece.

“Wow, she’s freaking out.” Vincent snorts, shaking his head, grabbing Mike’s arm. He starts tugging him backwards.

“M-Mike!” Rachel sobs.

_Throw. A strike._

“Violet come on!” Oscar yells. “They’re doing what you asked! Let him go!”

“What are you doing?” Rachel screams at her. “He’s taking him away!”

 _“It’s all right, Officer Baker.”_ Someone speaks in her comm – it’s that guy, Everett. _“You’re doing fine.”_

“ _He_ is our insurance.” Violet growls. “And you tell your people that if their snipers aren’t gone, Mike Lawson’s knees won’t be the reason his career ends!”

_“Assure them that no one will touch them.” Everett says. “Let them come out in plain sight, we’ll take it from there.”_

_But, he’s taking Mike away. And they’re going to kill Livan._

Ginny shakes her head.

_Throw, a strike, now._

_I can’t…_

 

“Baker.”

Ginny looks up. Mike is slowing his steps.

_His face is expressionless but she only needs to see into his eyes to perceive how irritated he is. He’s holding the ball, looking at her expectantly._

_Talk to me, he’s asking her with his unhappy eyes. But, she shakes her head. Sweat flies off her face._

_…Paint the corner… her father’s hollow voice echoes in her head._

_“Give me the ball.” She demands, holds her glove out._

_“Take a minute.” He says, chewing his gum, dismissing her demand. His face is tense, eyebrows are lifted, forehead is wrinkled._

_“Give me the damn ball!”_

 

_It’s from a dream. They’re all…dreams._

Ginny blinks. She shakes her head.

Dreams, reality – they’re all merging into one.

 “Baker.” Mike calls to her. For real.

“Shut up!” Vincent growls at Mike, and shakes him forcefully. “I like you, Lawson. I don’t wanna have to hurt you, man.”

Somewhere in her fucked up surroundings, Ginny hears Rachel weeping loudly.

“Baker.” Mike commands, ignoring Vincent. “Look at me.”

She does.

Hazel eyes that change colour with the light, they’re moving further and further away. They’re filled with nervousness, but his voice is loud, authoritative, and as calm as his face.

Ginny swallows, the gun rattling in her shivering hand.

“Baker.” He calls once more, ignoring the roar from Vincent.

He’s focussed – entirely on her.

Ginny blinks away tears. _I love you,_ she wants to cry.

“He’s your partner.” Mike says.

His rough, imposing, powerful voice washes over her shattered feelings, drawing them all together, pulling them into one cohesive thought.

Mike’s eyes shift to Livan. “Trust him.”

_“He’s your catcher.” He said to her once, in a long-forgotten dream. “Trust him.”_

Ginny glances at Livan.

Though his arm still twisted behind his back, Livan is rising on one knee, his body half-turning so that he rests his weight on his limp arm. He’s coiling slowly – like a python. Sequeira is oblivious.

She looks at Mike – he’s still walking back, passively dragged by Vincent.

Exceptionally calm as always, but eyes shining, glistening and wet…

… _he’s peering at her through the cage of a facemask._

Marzano throws an apologetic glance at all of them and starts walking towards Vincent.

Sequeira stays in position.

_He is going to kill Livan._

Regardless of whether they comply or not, Ginny knows that to be a fact.  No matter what bullshit Violet panders, there’s no way her partner will come out of this alive.

Mike will be taken with them, all the way. It’s the only way to get through the army of regular uniforms, SWAT officers and federal agents. They’ll use him as a shield, they’ll hold him hostage till they get to whatever non-extraditable country they’re flying off to.

She’ll be left behind, her partner’s blood on her hands.

_Then, they’ll kill him – they’ll kill Mike._

His gentle eyes will be pitch dark, pupils irreversibly dilated. He’ll be lying on a morgue table, lifeless.

_Like Pop._

_No more grumpy scowls. No more smug smiles._

_And it will be - my fault._

_“Paint the corner,” Pop says._

_I can’t..._

 

Sixty feet, six inches, give or take.

Ginny can always calibrate that specific length without a measure. Right now, it’s the distance between her on one end, Vincent and Mike on the other. Vincent pauses there, firm hand on Mike’s elbow, gun still aimed at Mike’s temple. He’s waiting on his mother to walk towards him after she finishes her conversation with Sequeira.

_“Yes, you can.” Pop says._

_But, she can’t._

_“Paint the corner.” Pop said…_

_…and slapped Will._

 

Ginny closes her eyes, thinks of the pitcher’s mound at Petco - thinks of Mike sixty feet, six inches away squatting in a catcher’s box.

_“Baker, look at me.”_

_It’s Mike – he’s in the catcher’s box. He spoke, but not with his mouth. He called, but not with his voice._

_Pop’s standing next to him._

_“Paint the corner,” Pop says._

 

Ginny blinks the tears away.

“Hey!” Mike calls to her, from across that length in the hallway.  “You do this for yourself,” his thick voice floats across, there’s only the slightest tremor to it. “Just you.”

_She’s looking to a mirror, he’s hugging her from behind, smiling at her reflection, lips pressed to her ear._

_She’s standing on the mound at Petco at the same time, looking at his face, his face is grim, but it’s like she’s the only person who matters._

_“You can’t aim your pitches, if you can’t aim to please.” He says, both times._

_She’s looking at him from across the diamond. Pop’s standing next to him._

_“Baker, look at me…”_   _He repeats._

_She’s out on an empty field, the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears._

_“You can’t aim your pitches, if you aim to please.”_

_Ginny takes her eyes off Pop -_

_…centres on Mike._

_Change-up?_

_She waves it off._

_Fastball?_

_She waves it off._

_…Screwball?_

_Yes._

 

Ginny inhales.

She tenses her arm, the gun steadies with it. She unlocks the safety and rolls her shoulder.

She looks at Livan – he’s been waiting to put down the signal this whole time. The corner of his mouth quirks – like he knows she’s ready.

_Her catcher puts down the sign._

_His soft voice traverses the sixty-feet-six-inch distance._

_Windup, set, release._

_“Paint the corner.”  He says._

_She does._

 

Livan swings his leg around a second before Ginny fires. Sequeira stumbles back and his gun fires in the air just as Livan trips him. Mike lunges to the ground in the same instant, shoving Vincent off.

_“Attention! Shots fired!”_

Ginny fires again, just as Mike’s body lands prostrate on the floor with his hands stretched out like he’s reaching for the base.  Rachel’s scream echoes just as Vincent roars, rearing backwards, clutching his shoulder, the gun slipping out of his limp hand.

_“Shots fired!”_

_“Baker, report! Baker! Come in! What is going on?”_

Ginny pulls out her mic, walking and talking at the same time. “All units move in! Location is secure! Both gunmen are down, I repeat! Location is secure! Officer injured, requesting ambulance!”

She pulls out the tiny device in her ear as chaos breaks out over the airwaves. She doesn’t need to hear the responses. The sound of doors banging and officers storming in from all sides are sufficient for her. 

Ginny marches past Livan. He has Sequeira pinned to the ground by his weight. Knee over his neck and boot over his wrist, salvaged gun in his good hand, pointed at back of Sequeira’s head.

She points her gun at Marzano, her eyes screaming the ‘don’t fuck with me’ warning as she marches past him. He freezes, drops to his knees, lifts his palms out in surrender.

She marches past Mike, who’s scrambling off the floor.

She walks past Vincent, curled and writhing on the ground, bawling with pain.

She advances towards Violet, who’s hobbling backwards, fumbling with her purse, reaching for the .38 revolver she keeps with her all the time.

Ginny knows Violet will struggle with it. Because she knows Violet.

_You do this for you, he had said..._

“So you wanna be a hero, Margie?” Violet jeers, with a slight tremor in her hands, aiming the gun at Ginny and cocking it. “Let’s make you one...”

_…Just you._

Ginny marches into Violet’s personal space, grabs her wrist, disarms her before she can even finish her threat and –

_Thwack!_

Violet reels from shock and pain.

Ginny pulls back the handle of her service weapon, tossing Violet’s small revolver aside. When she’s satisfied with the fast-forming welt on Violet’s petrified face, Ginny yanks the woman’s arms behind her back, twisting her by the wrists, immobilizing her and barks in her ear. “It’s Ginny Baker, bitch.”

Rachel’s whimpers are drowned out by the bustle and shouts of uniforms rushing in and encircling the victims. From amidst the havoc, Noelle cuts across, seizes and cuffs Marzano.

“She got ‘em both in the shoulder.” Someone – she doesn’t know who - says. “Get the paramedics in here! Good work, Baker!”

When Ginny glances at Araguella, he’s staring at her in horror. Even though the colour returns to his stunned face as they pry Rachel from him. He crashes to the floor, skirting back against the wall, defensively, still gaping at her like he’s stupefied.

Ginny redirects her gaze to Mike. Mike wobbles dusting himself off. He looks around with a dazed and confused expression - scanning the whole scene with blatant disbelief. He looks at her with that grim, tense expression –

_…like, in the dream._

Eyebrows lifted, forehead furrowed, irises are greyish-green when they meet hers -  unhappy eyes.

“Remind me," he says, simply, “ _never_ to piss you off.”

Ginny blinks.

His beard twitches, and a slow smile spread across his face.

 

 

“Don’t you wanna…” Bellamy wags the handcuffs.

“Nope.” Ginny shoves Violet into Bellamy and Blip’s custody.

“But…” Blip frowns, grabbing Violet and turning her around. “You earned it.”

“This bitch had her _dogs_ aiming _guns_ at two very important men in my life, Blip.” Ginny announces. “Arrest her before I kill her.”

Violet spits in Ginny’s direction, Ginny pulls her arm back to punch her in the face.

“Hey!” Blip barks. “Watch it!”

Ginny grits her teeth at Violet and crosses her arms. The Captain smirks like he wishes Ginny had gone through with it. Blip shakes his head, stifling a snort of laughter and starts reading the charges. “Violet Gleason, you are under arrest on the charges…”

She doesn’t care to listen to the whole thing. She excuses herself and cuts across the sea of SDPD officers, federal agents, and forensic teams scattered about doing their respective jobs. She stalks out to the right field concourse, where the paramedics are setting up stretchers to cart Vincent Gleason Jr. and Tuyo Sequeira away.

Mike is sitting on a platform besides Duarte.

He watches the paramedic sling Duarte’s busted arm with a grave, troubled expression on his face. He has one arm draped loosely around a distraught Rachel, rubbing his thumb on her shoulder absent-mindedly. Rachel’s face is hidden in Mike’s broad shoulder, sobbing loudly. Ginny doesn’t feel too inclined to be resentful or jealous of the redhead.

Ginny reaches them just as Duarte’s shifts onto a stretcher, leaning against its propped frame. He gives her a lopsided smirk with a half-open black eye that makes it seem like he’s permanently winking.

“Ay Mami!” Duarte calls. “Your fastball sucks but your aim is a thing of beauty, _amor_.”

Ginny’s too worried to give a comeback. “How bad is it?” Ginny ask the paramedic, reaching over, and planting a soft kiss on Duarte’s head.

“They’ll have to do some scans, but I think it’s just dislocated.” The paramedic assures her. “He’s lucky. We’re taking him to the hospital but - he wants to speak to Detective Sanders first.”

Ginny nods.

“I’ll need to check you out as well, Officer.” The paramedic says.

“Five minutes, please.” She requests.

He acquiesces by leaving.

Mike keeps glancing at the Vincent. He’s crying loudly, shackled to the stretchers by handcuffs and escorted out by the paramedics while a furious looking Noelle walks beside him, reading him his rights.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, old ma- _Mike._ ” Ginny says.

He doesn’t meet her eyes.

“He would have killed him…wouldn’t he?” Mike says, glancing at Sequeira on the other stretcher.

Ginny knew she’d got Sequeira straight in the joint. It was a non-fatal but unbearably painful injury that required him to be wheeled into surgery right away. He’s being accompanied by three federal agents and two uniforms – a testament to the fact that he’s a greater danger awake than unconscious.

“He wasn’t going to let your partner go, was he?” Mike asks her, glancing at Duarte. “I saw it in his eyes.” Mike shakes his head. “That’s the first time I’ve seen murder in a man’s eyes.”

“Sequeira and I go way back.” Duarte clicks his tongue against his teeth.  “It’s okay – Mami had my back.” He nods at Mike with a small but friendly smile. “And you had hers, _amigo_ , so, we’re good.”

It doesn’t seem to do much to console him. He finally meets Ginny’s gaze with a tormented expression. “What if he shot you?” Mike asks.

“They could have killed _you_.” Ginny emphasizes, sighing.

“If they hurt you – they might as well have killed me.” Mike declares like it’s a matter-of-fact, looking at her intently.

As though there isn’t an ex-wife clinging to him right there.

Ginny is too numb to respond. It might be aftershocks, it might be the realization that she’s never felt this loved in a long time.

Rachel lifts her head, looks up at Mike just after he says it. Mike glances at her, giving her a wan but reassuring smile. She disentangles herself from Mike’s embrace, her face flushing with what seems like self-consciousness. She pulls away, looking everywhere but at Ginny. She wipes her tears and shifts away to the far edge of the platform. Mike watches her actions expressionlessly and makes no attempt to draw her back.

Ginny gestures to a uniformed policewoman and motions for her to attend to Rachel, then takes up the spot beside Mike that Rachel left vacant.

“Look,” Mike says, sounding uncomfortable, and glancing away from Ginny’s face. “Rachel’s - freaked out. She doesn’t have anyone close to her in San Diego and she doesn’t want to be alone in the hotel. I’m taking her home after we’re done giving statements. I’ll put her up in the guest room.”

Ginny understands that he’s not asking for her permission or approval. Even if he was, Ginny wouldn’t have rejected it. Mike always tries to do the right thing. Even, if he does go about the wrong way doing it.

Like trying to get her to focus while she was in a state of pandemonium, despite the fact that there was a pistol aimed at his head.

One of the many things she loves about him.

“It’s fine.” Ginny says, surprised that she isn’t feeling remotely apprehensive about it. “I’ll probably be have to babysit this idiot anyway.” She gestures to Duarte. “There’s going to be a lot–” She groans when she thinks about it. “I mean, a _lot_ of paperwork and…” She motions to Duarte. “He never does his when his arm is functioning so, I’ll have to do his as well.”

Duarte gives her a bratty smirk and a wink.

“I freaked out, Old Man.” Ginny admits, softly, recalling Rachel’s shouts and pleas. “This could have been over a lot sooner.”

“It was an impossible situation, Baker.” Mike says, cupping the back of her neck, and kneading it. “ _You_ got us out of it. No one died. It could have been a lot worse.” He grabs Ginny’s hand and rubs it a little vigorously.

“How can you possibly be so calm?” She asks, worrying if he’s in some odd manifestation of shock.

“I never freak out.” He brags, playfully. “It’s a gift, Baker, I tell you, it really is.”

She’s not inclined to retort. “Mike,” she uses her serious-voice. “Your life was literally in…”

“…in your hands.” Mike completes, matching her serious glance with one of his own.

Ginny tilts her head at him, her bottom lip quivering with emotion.

“And…” He lifts her palm up and buries his nose in it, inhaling. “I can’t think of a more beautiful, more capable pair of hands that I’d have my life in – at any given point.”  He presses his beard into it, and Ginny feels his lips pout into the hollow of her palm.

“Sap.” She teases weakly.

“Ugh! You two make me sick.” Duarte comments.

Ginny’s pretty sure that Mike’s muffled “Nobody asked for your fuckin’ opinion, Papi-asshole” is for her ears only. She giggles, tries to squirm her hands out.

He sniffs and wrinkles his nose. “Smells like burning tyres....”

“Gunshot residue” Ginny says, softly. “Doesn’t make for the most romantic of smells, does it?”

Mike grins at her, leaning his forehead against her. “I was secretly hoping after this was done, you’d choose baseball – but now - I don’t know which one is more exceptional, the ballplayer or the cop.”

Ginny leans into him, absorbing the warmth of his thumb digging into the stiff muscles of her neck.

He presses his forehead against her and nuzzles her nose.

“Mike!”

Duarte muttering the “ _Gracias a Dios_ ” when they pull apart is probably for ears only as well.

Amelia is standing behind the yellow tape, quite expectedly in a vehement argument with the uniformed officer directing her to back off, constantly pointing at them. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun on her crown, her makeup-bare face is enveloped in alarm. Everything about her general appearance suggests that she’d come in a frantic hurry and yet, the woman still manages to look attractive.

Al Luongo is standing beside her, shifting his weight on his legs, looking across. He’s veritably flu-ridden, and looks ill, staring at Mike with abject worry and relief at the same time.

She motions to the officer, to let them through, imagining what a massive media ruckus would be going on outside.

“I gotta say.” Mike says, hollowly, watching them come forward. “That was pretty awesome.”

Ginny looks up at him.

“But.” He grimaces. “Let’s not do that again – _ever_.”

Ginny snorts. He smiles at her affectionately and looks like he’s about to say something more but his attention is drawn to something beyond her, his palm drops down to the small of her back.  

Blip hauls Violet by the cuffs, trapping her wrists behind her. He forces her to stop. She automatically turns her head towards Ginny, giving her a menacing glare. Blip doesn’t intervene. He doesn’t drag her away or jerk her in reprimand.

He lets Violet stare until Ginny squares her shoulders, crosses one knee over the other, straightening her spine, and jutting out her chin. She counters Violet’s gaze with a disdainful glare of her own, refusing to backdown until the other woman’s face shrinks, defeat finally overthrowing her stoic, seemingly impenetrable mask.

Blip nods at her, Mike, and Duarte, and then propels Violet forward.

Ginny watches her go, unsure of what she feels.

“You okay?” Mike asks.

Ginny nods.

“You did it, Ginny.” Mike says, softly. “You got her.”

_We did it, Pop._

For once, her father’s voice doesn’t counter with his usual reply. For once, Ginny doesn’t parrot it out either.

“Yeah.” She sighs, glancing up at Mike.

For once, Ginny imagines Pop, standing beside Mike, a smile in his eyes that doesn’t quite reach the rest of his face.

 _I’ll be damned, little girl._ She hears him say.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

_“Undoubtedly the biggest scandal of the year, Violet Gleason’s recent arrest on charges of major drug and human trafficking, procuring and pandering, racketeering has resulted in a plummet of Gleason Inc.'s stock price and devaluation of their assets. This has resulted in a backlash on the markets, but it appears the indices are slowly staggering on their way up.”_

_A joint operation by the San Diego Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigations resulted in a dramatic movie-style apprehension of the CEO of Gleason Inc., her son Vincent Gleason Junior and Tuyo Sequeira who was until recently on the FBI’s most wanted list. No details have been released on the circumstances of the arrest, except that it involved a hostage scenario and that it was the bravery of few SDPD officers that mitigated it efficiently. Petco Park was shut down for the purposes of the investigation for two days, resulting in postponement of two home games against the_ Washington Nationals _and a revision of the season schedule._

_Violet Gleason’s alleged prostitution ring catered to several high-profile persons including high ranking government and municipal officials who are now being investigated.  The SEC has announced an asset freeze on all of Gleason’s accounts including Gleason Capital, Gleason’s wealth management arm. They declared the transaction to acquire the San Diego Padres as null and void._

_This was a great source of concern for fans of the team, employees of the San Diego Padres franchise and the team players themselves. However, the Commissioner of Baseball announced that there need be no confusion or worry on the team’s upcoming games or their commercial survival for this year. A regulator has been appointed to oversee a proper auction of the controlling stock of the San Diego Padres._

_Details of the victims and the officers have been withheld from the public owing to a joint petition filed by the San Diego Padres, the City of San Diego as well as the DOJ. Sources say one of the victims might have been Mike Lawson, the captain of the Padres. Mr. Lawson however, refused to comment on any of the rumours. Interestingly, this hasn’t hindered his performance on field or the team’s morale – with the Padres on roll, winning the next two scheduled home games…”_

 

* * *

 

 

“In another life…I would have been a ballplayer. I was a pitcher. The goal was the major leagues.”

The faces in front of her look sceptical.

She smirks. “I know it sounds ridiculous. A female major league baseball player?  I’m sure at one time the idea of the first policewoman must have been as ridiculous. And now we have a female chief of Police.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry – I got side-tracked – what was the question?”

They don’t seem irritated. The inquisitor looks down at his file and reads out. “Mr. Araguella states that he was worried you had shut down, that you seemed almost catatonic. He mistook your inaction at first for a loss of _compos mentis_. In his own words, he: ‘ _didn’t know you well enough to understand that you were working out a plan, trying to find the right opportunity. He regrets ever doubting you_ , _even if it was for a brief while_.’ We would like for you to elaborate what was going on in your mind at the time?”

“He wasn’t wrong. I was pretty shaken for a bit. I don’t know how, but things got jumbled up.”

“Like how?”

She regroups. “Baseball, was the goal of my life. The plan was to make it to the major leagues. And then, things didn’t work out. I moved on. But, I never felt connected to the service the way I did to baseball – I mean, not until recently. I guess what I’m trying to say is -  I never felt like an efficient officer. I always felt like…I wasn’t quite as good at it.”

“And yet, all your records and assessments have always placed you in the ‘exceptional’ category. Right from your days in the academy.”

“Yeah –but -” She catches herself and rewords. “I’m sorry – I meant: _yes_ , but it never felt like this was what I was meant to be.” She takes a breath. “When – I was there, in that situation – all the tactical training I had received, it just melted away. I froze. So, Mr. Araguella was in fact correct.”

“It is an understandable reaction. Also, these weren’t just any hostages. One was your partner, the other one was Mr. Lawson. As I understand things, you two are romantically involved.”

“Miss Patrick and Mr. Araguella were under threat as well. Mr. Marzano might have been unarmed, and walling them off but it was not to protect them. Livan – I’m sorry - Detective Duarte and Mr. Lawson weren’t the only people whose lives were at risk.”

“All I’m saying is that it becomes a very personal situation. That adds to the pressure.”

“Was I emotionally compromised, is that what you are asking?”

“Yes.”

“I was.” She admits. “Emotional, almost compromised.”

“We appreciate your honesty”

“But, it wasn’t just personal on that front, either, sir.”

“Go on.”

“See, I’ve worked Violet Gleason for almost a year. She wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill pimp and drug baron, she was well connected, manipulative. Also, a seasoned, murderer by proxy. She never got her hands dirty, but always got things done. I’ll bet my pitching glove that she thought she might be able to slip away undetected. If Mr. Araguella hadn’t insisted that Mr. Lawson and Miss Patrick accompany them as well – it might have been a different scenario.”

“How so?”  

“If it was only Mr. Araguella – she would have had him killed on the spot. The only reason, a hostage situation arose was because their group stumbled on Det. Duarte engaged in a scuffle with Tuyo Sequeira and Vincent Jr. And, if she believed that she could get away with killing _all_ of them – Mr. Araguella, Mr. Lawson, Miss Patrick and Det. Duarte – they’d all be executed on site. It’s how she does things.”

“So, why, in your opinion, didn’t she do it?”

“Because of Mike Lawson.”

“Mike Lawson?”

“Yes, according to my partner, he intervened. Mentioned that the police were all over the place. That stalled her – forced her to consider the situation. Livan says, that was when it sunk in that he wasn’t acting alone, that she was being watched, that the police were in fact surrounding her.”

“Did she know of your involvement with Mr. Lawson?”

“No. She had learned that Margie – my cover identity – was a cop a little after Pascal was arrested. I don’t honestly know why she didn’t have me tracked down or killed in the interim. Maybe she assumed I didn’t have anything on her that her lawyers couldn’t fight off. I think, when I showed up – that was when she realized that I was Duarte’s partner.”

“I see.”

“And, she panicked. When Violet panics – all hell breaks loose and nothing ends well. That’s how the SDPD stumbled onto her criminal activities in the first place. She had three escorts murdered when they threatened to report her activities to the Feds. We found their bodies – and eventually their connection to her.”

They nod for her to continue.

“The situation was volatile, to say in the least. We weren’t prepared for Sequeira or Vincent Jr. to be there. Intelligence had informed us that both parties weren’t in the City at the time. If we even had the slightest idea that they would show up –” She trails off.

“Coming back to the hostage scenario. What happened? What was going through your mind?”

“I was confused. She didn’t have anyone at gunpoint personally. I was certain that Sequeira was going to kill my partner. And, I was worried for him. It looked like Livan’s arm - his shooting arm was damaged. He was in so much pain - he was holding onto his consciousness by a thread. He was in no position to disarm Sequeira, so I’d have to do it. If I shot him – then, there was a good chance that Vincent would shoot Mike – Mr. Lawson.” She shrugs. “I’m a _Padres_ fan, sir. It would suck if their clutch hitter was executed on my watch.”

A small murmur of laughter passes.

“I knew that there were no windows and no line of sight for the snipers.” She continues. “Miss Patrick was – distressed. She was screaming…” Ginny widens her eyes. “A lot – so, that didn’t help.” Ginny sighs. “And then – Sequeira started hitting my partner. It was – awful. I’ve never imagined to be in that situation. And, I’ve never been in that situation before.”

“It was in a high stress situation, with limited control. None of us intend to trivialize its gravity, Officer. Please, go on. What was going through your mind?”

“My mind was – constantly going back to Pop – my Dad.”

“Your father? Why?”

“My father.” She nods. “He was an exceptional man. He believed in my ability to pitch professionally, but he also saw things as they were. He knew what I would be taking on, especially, if I was to be the first female pitcher in the major leagues. He wasn’t just my Dad, he was my coach. He made me work for it – he did whatever he could in his power to see me through. And if he were alive, I don’t know if this would be the uniform I’d be wearing today.”

She pauses to take a sip of water.

“I don’t know why, but – I kept going back to my father. He was – he had unconventional methods to get me to focus whenever we trained. He loved me, and he was a great Dad, but…” Ginny smiles, wistfully. “He was worse than the drill sergeant at the academy when he was my coach.”

They seem to understand and all of them nod for her to continue.

“For some reason, I kept going back to this one time. I was thirteen – we were practicing out in our backyard and I was tired. I couldn’t focus – I couldn’t throw a strike. I didn’t want to throw anymore. I felt the exact same thing – out there in Petco. That’s what – jumbled it up for me. I don’t know why that happened.”

She looks up at her superiors helplessly. “Does - does that make me unreliable?”

“That’s not the purpose of this enquiry. We just want to know how it all went down.”

 “I wasn’t as worried about Mike as I should have been, I’ll tell you that.”  She sighs. “He’s a civilian, with no combat or tactical training and the more vulnerable party. One reason might have been that it was Vincent - holding him. If it was Tuyo Sequeira, it would probably be a whole ‘nother ball game because Sequeira is a killer. Another reason, I think, is because Mr. Lawson stayed calm. Even when Vincent was pulling him away – he didn’t freak out, or at least, he didn’t show it. So – if you’re asking me whether my – I mean, the man I’m seeing - being in the same room made things worse, my honest-to-God opinion is –” She looks up at them determinedly. “No, it didn’t.”

“So, what happened, how did your thoughts synchronize?”

“Mike – just – ” She shakes her head. “Look, I can’t explain this to you in the right way. If you don’t mind, I’ll use some baseball terminology?”

They nod.

“See, one of the things about being a pitcher is reading your opponent – the hitter. The problem here was I had a hitter and two runners trying to steal base. The problem was I didn’t know which one of these three was the hitter. Vincent Jr.? Sequeira? Violet Gleason? I didn’t know which one to focus on. I had to get them all out. Somehow. There was no question about it.”

She takes a deep breath. “I’m sweating. My vision’s blurry - my eyes are burning. There’s a lot of radio chatter in my ears, there’s Ms. Patrick screeching in the corner, my partner’s getting the crap beaten out of him on another side and -  I know…” Ginny emphasizes. “…that he’s going to get shot for sure. There’s no sniper cover because it’s an enclosed area. On top of which, they’re basically kidnapping Mr. Lawson right in front of my eyes.”

She looks up at the inquisitors. They nod like they can appreciate her situation.

“I felt like – I knew what I was _supposed_ to do, I also knew which ball I _wanted_ to throw but – I don’t have catcher in that situation. Where should I throw it? What call, do I answer? If I took out Vincent, Sequeira would shoot Livan in the next instant. If I aim for Sequeira –  not only was there a good chance Vinnie would fire on Mike, Livan could still get shot because Sequeira’s heavy handed on the trigger of a gun aimed at Livan. And, even if I by some miraculous turn of events I managed to get them both together – Violet always carries a .38 on her person. She never went anywhere without it. That woman hated getting her hands dirty and she hated using guns, but that didn’t mean, she didn’t know how. She was volatile and desperate – and pissed as hell.”

“Like a catch 22.”

“Yeah.”

They let her take a minute. She takes another sip of water to wet her mouth.

“Mike – Mr. Lawson, he figured it out. He sensed – that I was – not quite in the right headspace. He sort of understood, that all I needed to do was calm down. Focus.” Ginny shakes her head, looking up at all of them. “I mean, that’s all he did – he just called to me. It – externalized the whole damn thing – I was able to…” She gestures with both hands. “See the strike zone.”

“And, what _was_ the strike zone?”

“Sequeira – always him. He’s the most dangerous and least predictable. He’s also Violet’s lover so taking him down would confuse her and Vincent long enough for me to get them.”

“And Mr. Lawson knew that?”

“No,” She laughs. “Of course, he – didn’t know that. He’s a civilian, not a superhero.” She sighs. “But, catchers – _good_ catchers - are readers.  Exactly like it us for us - as cops. Facial cues, body signals, what people are trying to do, what they’re up to when they think you’re not looking. They’re like a beacon on a field and it’s not just for the pitcher. They need to have a proper feel of the hitters, the base runners, even the fielders if they want to win. And Lawson - is a really great catcher.”

“So, you’re saying Mr. Lawson took on a catcher’s role for you, like your Dad?”

“Mike Lawson is…” Ginny nods. “…everything like my Dad and nothing like my Dad. Pop shaped me – he was a driver. He believed that endurance and drive was the key to perform. Take all that life hits you with and channel it into your throw. I’ve taken a lot of hits in life – and I’ve taken them because my father believed in endurance. Mike – he’s like a helmsman. He steered me. Took what I had and just – pointed it in the right direction.”

She moistens her lips. “If you meet Livan, and if you’re as intuitive as Mr. Lawson is - you quickly learn that Duarte is not a passive guy. As long as my partner is conscious, he will find some way to get the upper hand in any situation. Lawson didn’t know Livan well enough to figure out what he was up to. All he knew was that _I_ knew Livan well enough. _I_ would understand his moves. And Duarte was slowly moving to a position which would provide me – a distraction.” She exhales and then shakes her head. “Except, I wasn’t looking at him.”

She looks up at the committee members.  “Lawson, wasn’t my catcher in this situation. It was my partner. Detective Duarte. Mr. Lawson – just redirected my attention.” She pauses to take a breath. “That was all I needed.”

They’re all nodding pensively.

She looks up at the chair of the enquiry committee. “I’m not praising Mike Lawson because we’re – romantically involved. I’m not even saying that if he _hadn’t_ been there, I might _not_ have focussed. I might have done the same thing – or maybe I might not have frozen up in the first place – I don’t know. Maybe I would have snapped out of it eventually. If the circumstances were repeated, I honestly do not know how I would have behaved. All I know is that, in _that_ particular situation – I did get psyched out and he pulled me out of it. Whatever happened, whatever went down – it all worked.” She sighs loudly. “Thankfully nobody got hurt – I mean, at least not fatally anyway.”

She shrugs. “That’s all I got.”

The Assistant Chief scrutinizes her for a long time and then picks up a file. “In Mr. Lawson’s statement, he says, and I’m quoting him here: _‘I stayed calm because I was convinced that Ginny would find some way to salvage the situation. It’s how she is. She’s a total gamer. No matter what you throw at her, she gets right back up. She is a hell of a lot stronger than I am and I knew that. All I had to – was wait.’_ ”

Ginny feels her eyes water. She blinks back the tears and exhales.

“I should point out.” Captain Everett of the SRT speaks. “Even officers with the best tactical training and all the experience in the world would just as easily have experienced the mental confusion in that situation, Officer Baker. Tapping into memories in my opinion is not a sign of weakness and – it’s not always a traumatic manifestation. We face it all the time in the field. I’ve seen it – happen to the best soldiers. My personal opinion, is that I think you were reaching inside – by instinct – trying to gather the strength you need to make the calls you made.”

Ginny swallows a dry lump and nods.

“Off the record.” He says. “I find your actions commendable. It’s easy to be brave when your head is in the game – but it’s remarkable to be brave when it isn’t.”

“I should also let you know.” The Assistant Chief says. “The evidence you and your team collected against Gleason was staggering and the US attorney is gunning for the death penalty. Chances are she’ll plead guilty to escape it. Sequeira and Gleason Junior –” He shrugs. “They’re just a matter of time. The District Attorney’s office and the DOJ are working on them.”

Ginny feels a wave of relief flood her. Her tears spill over and she wipes them off.

“It is a loss to major league baseball – that _this_ is the uniform you chose, Officer –” The Chief finally speaks with a smile. “I believe that with all my heart but – please forgive me if I won’t shed any tears about it. I’m happy you are one of us.”

 

* * *

 

 

She hasn’t seen Mike since that night at Petco.

They asked her not to have any contact with him as part of the regulations of the enquiry. Mike sent word through Amelia that he wanted to respect it and that he’d be waiting for her when it was done.

Amelia’s waiting for her at the Park, pouring over her phone as usual. She glances up at Ginny casually and then does a double take. It’s only then that it occurs to Ginny that Mike’s going to be seeing her for the first time in uniform as well.

“Mr. Araguella requested to meet you.” Amelia says. Ginny accepts.

Oscar Araguella thanks her for saving his life. He makes small talk with her about the career in baseball that she never had. He even gives her a card his daughter Danielle made for her. A ‘thank you for saving my Dad’ note with a picture of her dressed in her little league baseball uniform. Ginny’s overwhelmed enough to cry when she sees it.

Araguella insists on her taking a tour of the _Padres_ Clubhouse before she goes out on the field.

Al greets her at the Clubhouse entrance with a teary grateful smile. He takes her appearance in, looking a little daunted at her uniform at first, then shakes his head, like -  he’s proud of her, like - she was one of his own. It fills her with a sense of belonging she hasn’t had in a while. It’s funny – because she barely knows the man.

The Clubhouse is unsurprisingly superior to the relatively motley local field locker rooms that Ginny grew up in - and thankfully, doesn’t smell like sweat and feet like she’d come to expect.

Al introduces her to his chubby assistant manager. Buck Garland mainly talks in grunts and snorts and looks a lot more intimidated by her uniform that Al was. He isn’t the only one. Several players look at her with gaping eyes and hanging jaws as though they’ve got something vile hiding in their cubbies that they don’t want found out.   

Of course, that does not stop the bone crushing bear-hugs she's swept up in by Salvamini and Evers. She’s thanked, cheered for, and congratulated for saving their Captain’s 'sorry old ass'.

 

As she walks with Al and Buck towards the gangway that leads to the field, she wonders out loud to if there could ever be a place for a woman in that den-of-men, had she ever made it to professional baseball.

“Oh, I’m sure, I’d figure something out.” Luongo drawls good-naturedly, “There’s got to be something with a door around somewhere that we could put you up in.”

Buck snorts.

Ginny giggles.

It’s a practice day. The stands are empty. Her visit was a special exception.

She tells herself to expect the same level of intimidation and awe, maybe a little awkwardness and amusement from Mike.  She thinks about ways to dispel it – maybe flashing the rookie card in her pocket, maybe make a joke about being here to arrest him, maybe even joke about being a stripper. 

She locates Mike immediately. He’s wearing a Padres blue uniform and cap – laughing and joking with Dusty Voorhies and some other guys, swinging his arms about like he’s warming up. Al motions for her to go on to the field, so she does.

Her heart doesn’t do that skip and jump so much anymore every time she sees him. Instead, it’s filled with a sensation that’s greater, more powerful and more complete.  

He glances at her and away and back at her again. His arms oscillate slower and come to a stop. His smile wanes a little, he’s blinking at her like he can’t believe he’s seeing her.

He inspects her, scans her from her boots, to her fully packed duty rig, the ‘Baker’ above her right breast pocket, her badge above the left, to the SDPD emblems on her belt and uniform hat.

Ginny shirks off the urge to – she doesn’t know what – maybe stretch or something – when he scans her.

Instead, she cocks her hip to one side and grabs her belt by one hand. She suppresses the bout of giggles, tips her uniform hat at him and gives him a lopsided cheeky smirk while he swaggers up to her in that lazy, confident gait, shaking his head, his grin getting bigger by the second.

Like, she’s perfect to him as she is – whatever she chooses to be.

He’s home - to her, she realizes, right then. He’s the home she’s been searching for without even knowing that she was searching for it.

“Look what we got here…” He drawls loud, easy, and full of joy. “Ginny Baker, in the flesh.”

 

 

 

\---end---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ALL of you for your lovely comments and inspirations. I know reading an AU is not for everyone.  
> I'm v glad that you gave mine a chance. I would love to hear your reviews on this final chapter.


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